


Anonymous

by Shamera



Category: Final Fantasy XIII, Final Fantasy XIII Series, Final Fantasy XIII-2
Genre: F/M, Gen, I have a tendency to wonder just how the time between the first and second games go, M/M, c'mon Squeenix give us more info on Hope's life!, the first three chapters are basically rewriting Hope's life, the pairing doesn't even really get called upon until chapter 4
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-04
Updated: 2015-04-07
Packaged: 2018-03-05 07:38:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 40,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3111503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shamera/pseuds/Shamera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hope has a secret admirer who only leaves presents on Valentine's Day. Never on birthdays or other holidays, and leaving no clue but a gentle red ribbon that ties together the gifts each year.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here's the thing: I've been working on this for far, far too long and while I promised myself I wouldn't start posting until I finished the entirety of this story, I'm starting to think that maybe throwing a dumb deadline for myself might help move my writing along (seriously, it was a very long time ago that I started this). I've got the first three parts, and I'm going to try and finish part 4 (which turned out to be really really long) by Valentine's Day. That's a good goal, right?

When Hope was five, he found a box of chocolates waiting for him at his desk at school on Valentine's day as opposed to the mass of cards that would be handed out by everyone in class later in the day, all generic card-stock and with childish scribbles of 'Happy Valentine's!' written on it. The box was small and in the shape of a heart, wrapped in a soft, red velvet ribbon that loosened immediately when he tugged at the bow, eager to know what was inside. There was a golden 'Be mine?' inscription within, but no other indication of who it might have been from, and beautifully wrapped chocolates (they looked much better than the generic store brands that all the kids handed each other) inside.  
  
Having satiated his curiosity, Hope had shut the box and shoved the entire thing in his bag right before the rest of his classmates started rushing into the room, excited by the prospect of sweets and gifts through the day, shouting greetings and dismayed whispered of not having done their homework because they had stayed up past their bedtime painstakingly writing out their cards.  
  
Later when his mom came to pick him up, he brandished the box proudly, words falling over each other as he tried to describe just how excited he was about getting an 'actual present' for Valentine's, and eager to share half the box with her and his dad. Nora had looked shocked, and then skeptical, before she smiled widely and mock whispered to him that she had gotten Valentine chocolates as well, so if he shared half with her, then she would share half of hers with him.  
  
At that age, Hope felt paranoid the rest of the day wondering just who was sending his mom Valentine chocolates and whether he had to fight them for her attention, not knowing that she felt just as paranoid to know her five year old son was getting expensive chocolates as well (she also tested half of each chocolate before letting her baby have the other half).  
  
.

.  
  
It was more of a pleasant, but still exciting, surprise to find another gift when he was six. This time it was a box, identifiable only because it was wrapped with the same red velvet ribbon that Hope had thought to keep from the year before.  
  
The young boy sat down at his desk, baffled for a moment, before slowly pulling the knot apart and lifting up the lid, peeking inside to see a handful of store chocolates and a small modeling kit he had been discretely eying for the past few weeks in shop windows. It was, he thought excitedly as he pulled out the kit to examine the packaging and then tear into it, much more exciting than a handful of cards and some sweets.  
  
(That night after he told his parents about the present and went to bed, Nora and Bartholomew had a serious discussion on whether the gifts were a problem or not.)  
  
.

.  
  
When Hope was seven, Kai managed to find his gift while going through his bag in search of a replacement pencil.  
  
“What’s this?” The other boy asked curiously, inciting both Hope and Elida’s attention as he pulled out the small box, shaking it around to hear the rattle of chocolates and a small children’s book that barely fit inside about mythology. “Did you get a present from a _girl_ , Hope?”  
  
The way he mentioned _girl_ made Elida huff and cross her arms, “And what does _that_ mean, Kai? _Huh_?”  
  
“Girls are gross.” Was the dark-haired boy’s explanation, entirely casual as he nodded to her. “Except for you, of course.”  
  
The girl in question calmed a little, although she still looked irritated.  
  
“It’s just a present.” Hope explained when Kai handed the box over to him, fingering the red ribbon. “I’ve been getting them for the past few years.”  
  
“Maybe it’s from your parents.” Elida suggested, also reaching a hand to tug at the ribbon. Hope was used to her prodding and didn’t move away. “I’ve heard stories like that! And you have the nicest parents.”  
  
“Maybe.” Hope admitted reluctantly, although he didn’t think so. “I thought it might have been from you guys.”  
  
Elida and Kai looked at each other, but then shook their heads in unison.  
  
“Nuh-uh.” Kai said. “I only give those stupid cards because I have to. Valentine’s is weird, dude.”  
  
“I _get_ presents.” Elida said haughtily, shaking out her hair. “I don’t have enough of an allowance to give them. Sorry, Hope.”  
  
The white-haired boy shook his head. “It’s okay. It’s just a mystery to be solved, then.”  
  
After sharing the chocolates from the box, the three of them mostly forgot about the matter.  
  
.

.  
  
Valentine’s Day at eight years old had started off rather disappointing, especially when Hope had wheedled his parents into letting him go to school early only to find that he still wasn’t the first one to get to class. There were several girls there already, standing on chairs to put up decorations and giggling at each other as they left neat little packages on the desk of boys they liked. They had all frozen up when he entered the room, looking guilty but then annoyed to see him.  
  
One of the girls, a little blonde with pigtails, had pointed at him and wailed, “He’s going to _ruin_ all our plans and tell everyone!”  
  
Hope had backpedalled out of the room with apologies on his lips as the group of girls started pelting paper decorations at him, demanding that he get out and that if he ever told _anyone_ about the surprise they were leaving for the cutest boys in class, they were going to skin him alive.  
  
Later on in the day, Elida managed to bully the truth out of Hope about how he was so down on the day when he was usually happiest, and she went on to yell at the group of girls (right in front of the boys they liked) about how they were heartless harpies while Kai menacingly (or not so menacingly since he and Hope weren’t exactly the biggest kids in class) blocked the exits so that the other children couldn’t get out until she was done and so no teachers would be able to hear the little spiel, either. She managed to pull out a list (an actual list she had printed out!) to read all the negative traits those girls out, from little things to big things, until she had all the girls in tears and the guys shrinking back in their seats.  
  
The girls later told the teachers on Elida anyway, but all she got was a light scolding since she hadn’t _actually_ started a fistfight, and the teachers only hadn’t actually seen the incident and only had the words of several hysterical girls to go on.  
  
Right as Hope was going to leave school that day, still slightly disappointed no matter how grateful he was for his friends, Kai had run up to him and shoved a box into his hands, the white casing dirty and a familiar red ribbon wrapped around it. Hope had accepted the gift with wide eyes.  
  
“Elida found it,” his friend explained excitedly. “Emily was wearing that ribbon as a hair tie, and, well, you know Elida! She’s loud and screechy, but pretty amazing, since she got Emily to confess about just what they did to your present and give back the bow, too. But, uh... they took all the chocolates. Gave it all away, apparently, and then threw the box away. So it’s empty, but we thought you might like to have it, anyway.”  
  
Inside the dirtied box was once again a golden script. _‘For Hope’_ it said. _‘Things will be better, I promise. Happy Valentine’s Day.’_  
  
Hope reached to give his best friend a hug and babbling his thanks while Kai patted his back awkwardly, and the white-haired boy made a mental note to give Elida a _fantastic_ White Day gift somehow.  
  
(He didn’t manage to get her that White Day gift since only days prior to the holiday, the three of them managed to get lost in the Sunleth Waterscape and had subsequently gotten too ill to go to school for a week, but Hope did manage to pitch in with Kai to get her a new home karaoke machine for her birthday that year.)  
  
That night, his mom helped him clean off the box with a warm towel while his dad went to the store and bought extra chocolates to put in the box for when Hope woke up the next morning.  
  
“It’s okay,” Nora soothed as she and her son wiped away at the grime that was covering the fragile box. “We’ll do Valentine’s Day tomorrow instead. That means today wasn’t Valentine’s, so the gift isn’t late after all.”  
  
.

.  
  
At nine, Hope had barely managed to sit down at his desk before Elida came up smugly to drop a wrapped box on his desk.  
  
“I got here first.” She explained. “And made sure no one could get to it this time.”  
  
As if a switch had been flipped, she suddenly leaned over, looking far too excited. “Open it, open it! I want to see what’s inside this year.”  
  
Hope had to lean back away from the girl, now half a head taller than he was and dressed in things like miniskirts because she was convinced she could meet an entertainer who would take notice of her talents _any day now_ , almost afraid that she would snatch the gift out of his hands and maybe take his arms with her if he didn’t comply as fast as she liked.  
  
“It’s just chocolates.” He responded, feeling small under her amount of enthusiasm, although his fingers were already playing with the soft velvet of the ribbon. “There’s not always something else in there.”  
  
“Hope Estheim,” Elida nearly shrieked. “I got here earlier than I normally wake up just to make sure you got your Valentine’s from your secret admirer without anyone else stealing it, and I want to know what you got this year when you told me before this person’s been giving you presents for over three years already!”  
  
The few other children in class all stopped their conversations to stare at them, and Hope squirmed lower in his seat at the attention (and just maybe, the seething fury of his best friend).  
  
“You said it was probably my parents.” He nearly squeaked out, avoiding everyone’s curious eyes. He flushed red at the realization of how that must have sounded, but then decided to press on. “It’s most likely not a secret admirer at all.”  
  
“Nuh-uh.” The girl intoned proudly. “I asked your parents about it, and your mom told me straight out that they weren’t the ones sending it.”  
  
Well, that was one mystery solved, especially since Hope had never wanted to confront his parents about Valentine’s, half afraid of the answer and half because he was just _embarrassed_ at how his mom smirked at him and how worried she would look afterward. It was probably better that Elida had been the one to demand answers, since she was very good at that; so good that no one seemed to be able to tell her no, unless their name was Kai and he happened to be mad at her.  
  
It was the outbreak of hushed whispers that only children could manage that had him trying to hide his face... and the box. And it was only then that Elida even realized they were being watched, and she stood up straight again with a defiant glare and her hands on her hips, looking both stern and rather bossy.  
  
“And the rest of you can mind your own business!” She told them, watching intently until each kid went back to whatever it was they had been doing before.  
  
“Elida...” Hope pleaded, knowing it was useless to reason with the girl who wanted to be a diva. She certainly already had the traits for the job.  
  
“C’mon.” She grabbed a hold of his wrist and dragged him up and out of his chair, pulling him along as she huffed and left the room behind, and not stopping until they were halfway done the hall away from other classes as well, before spinning to face him. “You know, you usually don’t really care about things like this. You’re always so _sharing_... and now you’re all tied up in knots over this thing. What gives?”  
  
Hope shrugged, trying to act as casual about it as possible, even with his cheeks still flushed. It was a different feeling, and he didn’t quite like it. “I just didn’t want everyone else to see. It’s... it’s mine, you know? Like a secret, or a mystery.”  
  
Elida stared at him for a few moments before she started snickering under a hand. “—-You’re such an only child. _‘I don’t want to share!’_ ”  
  
Her high pitched imitation of his voice turned his ears red. “You’re an only child, too!”  
  
“What are you guys even doing out here?” Came a voice from behind them. “Class starts in a few minutes, you know!”  
  
“Kai!” Elida was delighted as she waved him over, making shushing noises like it was a grand secret. “Hope got a gift from his _secret admirer_ again.”  
  
The dark-haired boy came closer easily enough, hands still looped through his backpack straps. “I hope it’s not Liza — no offense, Hope, but she’s way too weird.”  
  
“It can’t be Liza.” Elida declared for him. “He’s been getting these _forever_. She’s only moved here last year. And she never gets anyone Valentines, anyway. I heard she won’t get them for anyone until they get one for her first.”  
  
“Think it’s Mami?” Kai asked, and Hope felt his temper flare up for just a moment.  
  
“Guys!” He nearly shouted just to get their attention away from gossip. “Can we not, really?”  
  
“Don’t you want to know, though?” Elida insisted. “You’ve been getting them forever, right? You’ve got to find out sometime!”  
  
“And I’m sure I will.” Hope said, not backing down. “But it doesn’t matter right now, right? It’s _my_ mystery, so can’t it stay that way?”  
  
The other two children quieted down, although it was easy to tell they were still sulking. Elida sniffed, turning her head up as if she hadn’t just been gossiping about Hope’s potential secret admirer, and then returned to the original subject in hand. “Fine. I won’t say any more on it if you open that present right now and let me see what’s in it.”  
  
Hope didn’t really want to, but he also couldn’t think of a reason _why_ he shouldn’t. Maybe Elida had been right, and there was some selfish want to keep the present his secret only, but despite what she said about him being an only child, Hope had always been the sharing kind. He didn’t understand it himself, really, but this was just one thing he wanted to keep because it was _his_.  
  
“Fine.” He finally admitted, as reluctant as that sounded, and the three of them huddled in the niche by the hallway as he slowly and carefully undid the ribbon and slid the soft fabric into his pocket, and opened the small box to find the usual chocolates along with... a piece of cloth?  
  
“It’s a handkerchief.” Elida said as the boys looked baffled. She was the one who pulled it out to examine it. “Looks pretty sturdy. But also really big. Like it’s for an adult.”  
  
“What,” Kai declared. “Is _that_.”  
  
Elida huffed and rolled her eyes with a murmured ‘boys!’ under her breath before she folded the bright yellow fabric gently into a much smaller square. “Don’t you guys read stories? Guys give these things to girls when they’re crying or upset so they can wipe away their tears! It’s a gentlemanly thing to have.”  
  
Hope just blinked. “I’m supposed to give it away to a girl?”  
  
He didn’t want to do that. He had started to collect all the gifts from the mystery person that he could find, and had been keeping it all in a small box under his bed. Wouldn’t giving away his gift defeat the purpose?  
  
“Well, you get it back!” Elida defended. “It shows that you care.”  
  
“But if Hope’s the one getting the handkerchief or whatever...” Kai looked over at him speculatively, and Hope shook his head rapidly.  
  
“I haven’t been crying! Why would I do that?”  
  
The warning bell rang right then, startling the three of them and they bolted for class; each trying to get to their seats before the teachers could glare them into submission.  
  
“I bet the secret admirer is Calum. He’s always giving Hope funny looks.” Kai muttered when he sat down, but was shushed vehemently by Elida.  
  
.

.  
  
Ten years old Hope figured it would be a good idea to get to school on Valentine’s Day earlier than anyone else, and had begged a ride from his mom long before he was supposed to even get up. This time, he wanted to grab the gift and shove it in his bag, and just pray his friends had forgotten entirely about the yearly gift he seemed to be receiving. The school hadn’t even been open when he got there, but Hope sat diligently at the front entrance, pulling out the little book of mythology he had gotten a few years ago. He didn’t often look at the book, but it was hard not to think about it on this day of the year.  
  
If no one was at school yet, not even the teachers, then maybe he’d be able to find out who left him the gifts all the time. Of course there was the possibility that he might be disappointed to find out, or even that his Valentine might realize he was looking for them and not give the gift this year, but that was a chance Hope was willing to take.  
  
He’d really rather not go through the knowing looks his friends had given him for several days past the event last year again.  
  
A yawning teacher had looked confused to see him, but Hope begged his way into his classroom, satisfied with the knowledge that this time, he was earlier than even the rest of the students. This time he’d —  
  
There was a large red box wrapped in a red velvet ribbon sitting on his desk when he charged in the door, and Hope wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or disappointed that he hadn’t managed to catch whoever was giving him the gifts. At least, he thought, it’d be enough that he’d be able to hide it and then the others wouldn’t be able to see it.  
  
Until he noted the size of the box.  
  
And despaired to realize he might have a hard time squeezing that into his backpack without anyone noticing.  
  
He dropped his backpack to the side of his table and tugged hesitantly on the ribbon, lifting the lid of the box gingerly before peaking inside. Nestled inside was a miniature science kit resting comfortably amongst handfuls of different chocolates, and a note the size of a business card: the paper thick and expensive looking, and the font the same gold as before.  
  
 _‘Looking for me is cheating!’_  
  
Hope huffed and eyed his surroundings suspiciously before finally closing the box and stuffing it into his bag with care, but not before taking out a handful of chocolates to share with his friends.  
  
How did that person know? He was really starting to believe it could be his mom — she was the only one who knew he was coming to school early, anyway, and besides... she was magical like that.  
  
.

.  
  
“I’m starting to think,” Kai offered his (unasked for!) two gil when he spotted the red box peeking out from the edge of Hope’s bright backpack. The dark-haired boy was leaning casually over the side of his desk as Hope was pulling up his homework from the datalog he had been working on. “That maybe you should talk to someone about those gifts.”  
  
“Why?” Hope questioned, although he was more focused on making sure he had uploaded his homework than on the Valentine’s Day gift.  
  
“Think about it,” His best friend was saying, although his voice was lowered as to not draw attention from others chatting around them. “You’ve been getting these things for... what? Years? If it was any one of us, well, how would we have been able to do this years ago? We were all just brats back then, right?”  
  
“What are you saying?” Hope intoned, although he had already considered all of this.  
  
“It’s got to be someone older. Isn’t that... disturbing?”  
  
“Maybe it was some kind of school thing.” Hope dismissed. He hated talking about this with his friends. Both Kai and Elida were far too concerned about the gifts. “It doesn’t have to be _disturbing_ , you know.”  
  
“School projects don’t last so many years.” Kai countered, looking truly concerned now. “C’mon, Hope. You’re smart — you should know that!”  
  
It was going on six years now and it had only been this year that Hope had noticed how concerned his parents looked about the gifts. The year previous, he learned not to show it to them, if only because of the crease between his mom’s eyes and her forced smile as she smoothed down his hair and said that she was glad someone was taking notice of her brilliant child. Of course Hope had realized long ago that it couldn’t have been any of his classmates; he had been five when he received the first gift. What five year old gave out gifts like that?  
  
“Look,” Hope interrupted, finally tearing his attention away from his homework assignment. “Elida was probably right, okay. It’s most likely my mom doing this, so can you please just stop — thinking about it? _Talking_ about it? There’s nothing disturbing about that, right?”  
  
“You mom looked pretty worried when I asked her about it.” Kai admitted quietly, and Hope rounded on him, suddenly much more irritated than his usual passive exasperation.  
  
“You talked to my mom about this?” Hope hissed.  
  
“Elida and I were worried!” Kai protested, not in the slightest bit intimidated by the silver-haired boy’s annoyance. “What if it’s some weird stalker? Or a _pedophile_. What then, Hope?”  
  
“You’ve been watching way too many holovids — “  
  
“Those things happen!” And suddenly, it was like the dark-haired boy managed to catch the attention of the entire class with his outburst, and Hope reddened as he realized that there were other eyes watching them and discreetly trying to listen into their conversation as Kai managed to be completely oblivious to it, voice almost as loud as Elida’s usual pitch. “We’re your friends, and we worry about you; especially if you’ve got some weird pedophile stalker after you — “  
  
 _“Did you hear that? Hope’s got a pedophile stalker after him!”_  
  
The rest of the class dissolved into whispered and shocked gasps at that statement, ranging from concern to disbelief to one particular _‘oh please, if anyone in this class had a stalker, why would it be **Hope**?’_ The boy in question was silently praying for the ground to open up and swallow him whole, and then maybe take Kai along with so that he could strangle the other boy in peace where they wouldn’t be gawped at by the rest of the class.  
  
Kai hadn’t even noticed. “ — and you’re not even trying to discourage whoever it is! You won’t even tell us what’s in the boxes anymore. How are we supposed to react knowing that?”  
  
“Maybe,” And Hope narrowed his eyes, feeling particularly vindictive after what Kai had told the entire class. “It’s because I already know who it is and it’s not some _pedophile stalker_ , it’s actually just a friend and I don’t like broadcasting their identity just like you and Elida didn’t want to tell me that you were dating!”  
  
Kai’s expression twisted between irritation, shock, outrage, and finally a resentful embarrassment as the class exploded into whispers again. The three of them weren’t particularly popular or even very well known, but that just meant there was little gossip to be gained on them while the rest of the class already knew everything about each other. Getting each little nugget of information, especially the ever popular ‘who was interested in who’ information on Valentine’s Day, sent them right into the center of attention.  
  
Hope had to bite back an instinctive urge to apologize to his friend, holding on to the knowledge that Kai had been the first to blurt everything out to the entire class. At least, he thought with a vague satisfaction mixed with guilt, he managed to switch some of the attention from himself to Kai and Elida. It was their fault, anyway.  
  
He pulled his backpack closer to his seat, guarding the bag from questions even as his thoughts wandered back to the snowglobe of a beautiful city he had never seen or heard of before, with multiple layers and an impressively elegant building in the very middle, looking futuristic and impossible.  
  
Hope just shook his head and kept his mouth shut anytime someone tried to ask him anything, and watched as Kai was pelted with question after question regarding Elida and just what he was getting her for Valentine’s and what he was going to do for her romantically since the two were now going out and possibly involved in a relationship.  
  
It was a good thing Elida was out sick for the day. She would have gotten into a lot of trouble for the fights she would have started had she been there.  
  
.

.  
  
By the time he was twelve, Hope had almost managed to... forget about the Valentine’s Day gift presents.  
  
No, forget was too strong a word. But after both Kai and Elida had moved in the same year, things were just different. He found middle school to be a quieter experience after his friends left, even if Elida still called each week to enthusiastically regale him with her favourite songs and what she learned from her latest music tutor.  
  
Twelve, Hope had decided early on, was a stupid age. It was a harsh age. With his dad’s new promotion in the Sanctum and his work taking him all the way to Eden daily now, his life was quieter leaving only him and his mom. He didn’t _want_ to find new friends. He liked his old ones well enough and everyone else had just...  
  
It felt like they had moved on without him, and Hope was stuck in the dust wondering just what it was he had missed. He had stuck with Kai and Elida all those years and had barely noticed the rest of his classmates, after all. Not only that, but for some reason it felt as if everyone suddenly had a plan for what it was they wanted to do when they grew up.  
  
Everyone except for him.  
  
It had been alright a few years to not know what he wanted to be, but with high school looming in the distance, everyone was so excited about the classes they wanted to take and the sports that they wanted to join. They had motivations and goals. Kai was already looking into volunteer opportunities at air hangers thanks to family friends, and Elida had her singing lessons...  
  
With the amount of important people missing in his life, Hope had withdrawn into himself more, burying himself in schoolwork and the occasional trips out with his mom where he would stand around and fidget as she chatted to other adults and pulled him close to her to let other women coo over how much the two of them looked alike now that she had short hair as well and just how tall he was getting.  
  
With the simplicity that his life had turned into... no, he hadn’t been expecting the bright red Valentine’s gift that year. It _complicated_ things. Things like his life, probably.  
  
Hope had sat down heavily on his seat and pulled the box off the desk and onto his lap, looking around to make sure that the few others in class weren’t paying any attention to him. Not that they normally did, anyway.  
  
The gift felt nostalgic, and he found himself wondering why it was just Valentine’s Day. What about other holidays, or even his birthday? It was almost frustrating, to not know who was sending him these gifts, and with no way of — saying anything at all, really.  
  
He opened the box carefully, tucking the red ribbon into his pockets before peering inside. The same chocolates, and this time... an art book?  
  
No, he realized after he pulled it out, it was more a book on basic architecture. Designs and historical significances. It was weird, now that he thought about it. In-between the gifts, he had gotten a book on mythologies, a science kit, and now architecture?  
  
At least, Hope thought as he pocketed several of the chocolates, the gift giver seemed to understand that Hope himself didn’t really have any set course for himself. Better to have multiple options than trying to send him on just one, right?  
  
.

.  
  
By the time he was thirteen, Hope had an extensive plan as to how he was going to catch his ‘secret admirer’ in the act of putting down a present. He had spent a week prior to the holiday building a rudimentary security camera, completely ignoring the warning he got years before about not looking for the gift giver. That hadn’t really been a _warning_ , anyway. More of a taunt, really. Right?  
  
Either way, it gave him something to work on and think about other than the fact that his mom seemed more and more wilted by the day the longer his dad stayed at work and forgetting all the promises that he had made to his family. He had begged his mom’s help in the project, and she relented easily enough even if she had misgivings about putting any type of surveillance equipment in the school.  
  
“Wouldn’t you feel violated if you know one of the other students was doing it?” She asked him.  
  
Hope had shrugged during the time, focused on wires and circuit boards. “I’m only keeping it there for a night, and people shouldn’t be there during the night, right? And it’s only going to be looking at my desk! Don’t you want to know, too?”  
  
It had been exciting setting up the little camera as discreetly as possible after school as the students were leaving, under the guise of looking for something he had left in his desk and then fiddling around with his backpack. The other students had all been either excited or exasperated about Valentine’s Day and had gone home quickly.  
  
What Hope knew was that somehow whoever left the gift got there earlier than any of the teachers did, and that it certainly hadn’t been there the day before... so it had to be some time in-between that, right?  
  
Just a day, that’s all. He wasn’t going to have the camera there all the time or anything.  
  
What Hope had failed to take into account the next day when he bounded excitedly for school, feeling an equal rush of dread and anticipation for the great reveal, was that whoever left him the gift would have seen the camera.  
  
 _‘Good try.’_ Was what he found on the thick white card in golden ink, and he could almost feel the patronizing smirk with the words. _‘Maybe you should get another hobby.’_  
  
The camera was gone and Hope nearly crumpled up the paper in disgust at his own failure before catching himself. As flattering as the gifts were every year, it was getting equally frustrating as well.  
  
That year, he found a bunch of boomerang components within the gift and spent the next few months perfecting his aim, honing the talent his mom had cooed over when he was little. Maybe if he pretended his targets were all the things in his life that went wrong, then his days would flow a little better.


	2. Chapter 2

Bartholomew Estheim rarely looked at the dates on his calendar without seeing deadlines and weather reports. The past several years he had been so busy with his work that he couldn’t afford to see dates as anything other than that, and it was one of the biggest regrets in his life.   
  
Had he looked at a calendar to remember all the time he had marked off, had been meaning to mark off, in order spend time with his family... maybe things would have been different.  
  
But he couldn’t think like that. Instead, Bartholomew learned to be grateful for what he still had after the Fall. He had his knowledge and his experience, he had enough stashed away in case of anything and influence with both soldiers and politicians... and most of all, he still had his son.   
  
Even if he couldn’t afford to have his son in public schooling anymore, and worried continuously over Hope’s safety and health as well as his happiness. The teenager was quiet and withdrawn; perhaps not as sullen as he had been in the year previous, but still distant and so very hard to reach. Nora had been so much better at handling Hope and his distance than Bartholomew ever had... but now it was up to him. Hope was nothing like the child he had once been, or even the teenager he had been mere months ago. He was driven now in a way the older man had never seen before in a teenager, getting just as forgetful about the calendar as Bartholomew was.   
  
Seeing that in someone he loved dearly... Bartholomew was starting to understand just how his family must have felt whenever he forget about dates.   
  
The man had tried. He tried to urge Hope to go out and spend time with the friends he had, to rejoice over being alive and to enjoy the last vestiges of childhood. But Hope had only shaken his head; “...They don’t want me there.”  
  
That was the truth of it. People feared the ex-l’Cie, and despite the fact that his son barely reached the shoulders of most people and still had the round cheeks of a child, Bartholomew would have been blind and deaf to not notice the whispers and glares whenever he was out with his son. That wasn’t the fact which struck Bartholomew the hardest; instead, it was the calm _acceptance_ that Hope reacted with, as if he understood and accepted the people’s hatred and fear of him.   
  
As if he deserved it.   
  
Bartholomew was at a loss for what to do.   
  
“Hope,” the man tried to wheedle this morning, feeling like he was failing spectacularly as a father with every word, “It’s Valentine’s Day. Shouldn’t you at least phone up Elida? I’m sure she’d want to hear from you and know you’re alright.”  
  
“She doesn’t want to hear from me.” The teen said; not sad, not hateful... just stating a fact. He didn’t even look up from his reading. “She wants to hear from Kai, but Kai’s not around anymore.”  
  
That was another strained subject. With the amount of deaths after the Battle in Eden, there was no one left unaffected by events. Everyone lost someone... even Hope and his small amount of friends. But it was a day he didn’t want his son to spend alone, especially since he had work to get to within the hour and leaving Hope with no one there (Nora had typically been the one to celebrate the holiday with their son) didn’t sit right with him.   
  
But what could he say to make up for the absence? What could be done?  
  
“Alright.” Bartholomew finally gave him several awkward seconds later, reaching to pat his son on the shoulder lightly. “Just... don’t study too hard today, Hope.”  
  
It wasn’t what Nora would have said; she would have encouraged their son to go out and play, to take his work from him so that he would talk to her without interruptions, and then wheedle smiles and laughter from their usually taciturn child. But Bartholomew was not Nora, no matter how much he missed and loved her, and even knew what she would do. He didn’t have the tact nor the words to do what Nora did. All he could do was comfort in his own distant manner.   
  
He excused himself with the sound of the doorbell, going to answer the door.   
  
There was no one outside. At least no one who could have possibly rung the bell. Instead, placed very carefully at the doorway, was a single red rose... wrapped generously in a red, velvet ribbon and tied off to form an elaborate bow.   
  
Bartholomew felt as if his throat had gotten thick, his voice stuck as he bent to pick up the rose. He remembered the ribbon, of course. He and Nora had fussed over it yearly, discussing late into the night whether it was dangerous or not for their child to be receiving Valentine gifts like that at so young an age, with her going so far as to suggest hiring investigators to find who the culprit was. They never had, when the gifts appeared to stop. They had been so relieved.   
  
Now, though...   
  
Not want him there, huh? The older man chuckled lightly under his breath as he closed the front door behind him to deliver the gift to his son, suddenly glad for this person out there who had at first caused him so much distress.   
  
There was still one person out there who kept their fondness for Hope outside of those involved with the l'Cie.   
  
.

.  
  
Fifteen, Hope decided, was a difficult age. Not that any age seemed easy, but fifteen was especially difficult for him when he had managed to help save most of the world at fourteen. Now what would he do? It didn’t feel right to just sit back and do _nothing_ when everyone else seemed busier than ever. All he had left was his studying, and even that had grown tedious quickly enough.   
  
He felt, and thought he was old enough to say it, _tired_. He wanted to do more than he could, but at the same time felt far too small to do anything right. Not enough knowledge, not enough experience... he only managed to grasp half of things most of the time. Could explain portions, but would need other information to be shared with him. It was a difficult transition, and Hope absolutely despised it. He hated knowing just enough to grasp the basics but still be schooled by everyone else. He hated that everyone still treated him like a child regardless of what he had accomplished by fourteen. He hated when people treated him like an adult when he missed the protection and security he felt as a child.   
  
There was no good compromise. Nothing that he could do, or even that others could do, that could satisfy. He missed his mother sorely, and even his father when the man was gone. He missed bickering with friends, and hated walking down a street and listening to people talk and laugh with each other; all of them slowly but surely healing from the catastrophe over a year ago.   
  
Sazh and Dajh had disappeared from the radar, and Hope still wasn’t sure whether that was intentional or if there were other forces behind it. Snow was always out on patrols, and his dad was more often than not in meetings and organizing a new society for the inhabitants of Gran Pulse.   
  
That left Hope alone most of the time, not even with tutors but computerized lesson plans that he would complete one after one with nothing else to interest him.   
  
Well... not _nothing._   
  
He peeked from behind the curtains of his house again, just for another moment, before letting the heavy fabric fall back into place. It was Valentine’s Day, and...   
  
He wasn’t _nervous_ , per say. It was just that he had expected to be disappointed last year and hadn’t been, and now with that one strange constant in his life, Hope didn’t want that to disappear on him as well. He just wanted to know... wanted to know if this mysterious gifter would finally abandon him, after all. Kai was gone, Elida wasn’t speaking with him, his mother was... gone as well, and the way his father had reacted last year when he had brought in the rose spoke volumes about just how it _hadn’t_ been his parents.   
  
That meant there was someone else out there that took a notice to him, and someone else who not only stayed with him his entire life, but _still cared_. And he wanted to know who it was. Wanted to speak to them and thank them and maybe yell at them and just — he just wanted to get to know this person.   
  
He wanted...  
  
Hope wasn’t sure. It was a funny feeling, to be certain. He was older now, and much smarter and aware than he had been as a child. Maybe it was due to Lightning’s brief tutelage, but Hope was finally turning over the years in his mind to garner clues that he hadn’t noticed there before. The notes he had gotten had all been printed. Not written. Even the notes that had teased him and warned him away from finding the gift giver had been printed, despite him spontaneously coming up with ideas.  
  
The person _knew_ whenever he tried to find them. Knew, and could anticipate (or predict) his actions. Someone who knew him well, then? Hope wasn’t sure who that could be. It wasn’t as if he were close with many people throughout his life.   
  
He checked through the curtains again, and this time jumped up from the couch as he saw a delivery man approaching, pulling his hat firmly over his hair and ears before throwing opening the door long before the man could knock, startling the guy.   
  
“Uhh.” The delivery man held up a package uncertainly. “Mail for Hope Estheim?”  
  
“That’s me,” Hope replied as cheerily as possible, although he felt more jittery than anything else. Mail? He was used to packages delivered when he least expected it, not through someone else.   
  
The delivery man certainly didn’t look like he approved; probably thought Hope was far too young to be ordering anything. But really, he wasn’t young at all; Hope was just waiting on that growth spurt, that was all…  
  
(What he had forgotten about was how the central heating unit had broken down not two days ago and Hope had insisted on being the one to fix it rather than let his dad call someone in, but that was taking longer than he thought it would since the mechanics were _fascinating_ and he hadn’t even known it contained such complicated programming and —   
  
It was just that the house was still very cold and that meant sweaters and scarves and hats and thick socks and maybe the oversized colorful fish print flannel pajamas that, combined, made Hope look a little young to be home by himself.)  
  
“Sign here,” The man instructed, and Hope did so, script wobbly with anticipation as he finally got the package (heavier than he expected), and waved the man goodbye before shutting the door behind him.   
  
There wasn’t a return address, not that he had expected one. That would have been far too easy. Hope ripped off the tape on the box and reached inside past the package peanuts to find the familiar red box wrapped in red velvet ribbon.   
  
“Gotcha,” He whispered softly, smiling despite himself. It _had_ come this year as well. The box was small and filled with only three chocolates, and he set that down curiously to rummage through the rest of the box. Why send an entire box when the bit of chocolates could have just been placed on his doorstep?  
  
He hit the jackpot after a few seconds, and used both hands to pull out a heavy snow globe, this one much bigger than the small one he had received previously, depicting that very same futuristic city, but this time with the crystallized pillar of Cocoon in the background and... what looked like another large sphere in the works? It was on the ground, though, not in the air, and settled firmly behind the beautiful city.   
  
Hope shook at the snow globe curiously, and then set it down on the ground where he watched as the white flakes whirled around and slowly settled.   
  
Maybe... maybe he would show his father this. A new city on Gran Pulse was exactly what people needed.   
  
.

.  
  
“ — Hope!”  
  
The teenager turned with a curious hum, blinking as his father waved at him from the next room. Hope had recently been slowly taking over his father’s study, which had been just fine with Bartholomew who was away more and more with work and securing contracts to construct the newly proposed Academy. It would take a while yet before the whole thing went off the ground, but they were making good progress, and Bartholomew had already drawn up plans on where he wanted the institute located.   
  
Lately, Hope had been busy with both his studies and drawing out plans for Academia — the city that his father wanted to build. He had sketched and re-sketched on his computers just how the city should be constructed, as whimsical as it felt. He was fairly certain that people wouldn’t take his winding roads and levels seriously, but it was a hobby to construct those roads and watch how they looked on his 3D imaging program. It was a good way to relieve stress after the days he got fed up with his studies.   
  
Studies that, he had been assured, he was progressing much faster in than other kids. He was now sixteen and taking courses on theoretical physics and advanced quantum mechanics. But it was his electives that interested him the most — mythologies and religions of Gran Pulse, archaeology, and even architecture. He’d have to choose a subject and interest for his thesis soon, but...  
  
His father looked rather pleased from where was approaching. “You’ve got mail, Hope.”  
  
“Mail?” He didn’t mean to sound so absentminded, and shook his head to clear his own thoughts before focusing on his father again. “Me?”  
  
“You forgot the date again, didn’t you?” His father looked amused.   
  
Hope hadn’t forgotten; not entirely. He knew enough to know that it wasn’t his birthday, or even his father’s. It wasn’t the anniversary of the Purge, or that of the Fall. It was late winter still, with the chill heavy in the air despite being inside.   
  
“No?” He responded, uncertain and still shaking equations and theorems from his head. “I don’t think so?”  
  
Why would he receive mail? All his assignments were done electronically, and he had very little communications from people now that Snow had disappeared as well. At first he had been extremely worried, agitated and bursting with the need to follow up and find out what happened to the other ex-l’Cie, but his father had convinced him that the best way to solve the problem was to arm himself with more knowledge first. Finish his studies, learn as much as he could, and then perhaps he would come to understand what was happening.   
  
It felt like a shallow promise, but at least it was a promise.   
  
His father laughed, and put down a package in front of him on his desk. “Happy Valentine’s, son. It seems like your secret admirer has struck again.”  
  
It was the same colored box and soft ribbon, and Hope startled to realize that yes, he _had_ forgotten about the day. He thought there were still weeks until the holiday, not —   
  
There was a thread of old excitement that stirred as he fingered the ribbon, and he barely heard his father excuse himself back to work, leaving Hope with some space to open the present himself. Eleven years of presents, and Hope smiled as he tugged on the ribbon, feeling warm and pleased as he opened the lid of the box —   
  
It took him a moment of staring before he registered was he was seeing and the slammed the lid down again, this time with his cheeks flushed a deep red as he shoved the box under his desk and then kicked it to the wall, out of view.   
  
(At dinner, he stammered his way out of answering when his father asked curiously what he had gotten as a present this year.)  
  
.

.  
  
At seventeen, Hope had learned his lesson and marked off his calendar early to make sure no one intercepted the present. Whether it was because he was suspicious as to if the person would accidentally open the box or whether it was because he was suspicious as to what was _inside_ the box, Hope hadn’t be able to tell.   
  
But it was just —   
  
He flushed deeply again at the memory of utter mortification that day a year ago. It was weeks before he dared to look into the box again, but...   
  
Well. He looked away from his holographic monitors briefly to glance toward the front door. He was mostly done with his thesis, and the past year had been... turbulent, to say the least. Enlightening? With the discovery of the Oracle Drive and Serah’s disappearance as well and the idea of prophetic visions and time travel, of all things...   
  
_Time travel._ That's what he had heard from Team NORA. He didn’t know if he believed in it, if he should let himself believe in it. If it was true, if it was possible, then things could be so very different. It could mean that things could be changed for the better.   
  
With the paradoxes and disturbances appearing everywhere on Gran Pulse and Cocoon, Hope wasn’t sure what to think. It would explain all the disappearances. At the same time, it explained nothing at all. If such a thing were possible, why wouldn’t someone else have already gone back and fixed everything? Or was it _possible_ but not yet accomplished? Did that mean it was possible to unlock the secrets of time travel within his lifetime? What if something had already been changed and he didn’t even know it?  
  
It was just a bit challenging to relate his thesis with all the things that couldn’t be proven. The Oracle Drive could tell the future, but to what end? Prophecies were either a foretelling or self-fulfilling wish, after all. It was hard to tell one from the other when the moment you know what’s going to happen in the future.   
  
...But no. Valentine’s Day. He told himself he’d take a day away from his studying and his work, because it was a day that he wanted to save for a semblance of normality. A link to his past, his childhood, and the memories of happier times. He had spent a good while debating with himself as to whether he wanted to trace where the gifts had come from. Did he?   
  
What if he was disappointed somehow?  
  
Hope didn’t think he would be, though. He could only admit to himself in his thoughts that he wanted nothing more than the attention that had been afforded to him through the gifts. It didn’t matter to him who it was behind the presents — he wanted to meet someone who cared enough about him to _send_ them.   
  
He wanted...  
  
It was a dull ache in his chest, a welcome ache, knowing that despite everything that happened and no matter how many people still blamed him for the downfall of Cocoon (which was, luckily, less and less each year as the truth became common knowledge)... there was still someone out there who _cared_.   
  
Someone who — he turned red again at the thought of last year’s present. Well. He had a fairly good idea that whoever it was, they were certainly... interested? In him. Or at the very least...  
  
The doorbell had him scrambling from his seat and racing toward the door, making sure to overtake his father, who had poked his head from the kitchen in amusement.   
  
“Manners!” Bartholomew called out to remind him just as Hope threw the door open. It threw the teen in a loop enough that he startled the delivery girl outside the door.   
  
“Uh!” The girl in question squeaked, looking mousy and timid as she held the box toward him. Hope found a note of satisfaction that he was just the slightest bit taller than the girl. It wasn’t often that he got to be taller than other people. “Package for Hope Estheim?”  
  
“That’s me,” he breathed out, and then remembered: “Thanks.”  
  
He signed for the package (the action so familiar to him now) and thanked her again before giving a polite wave as she walked away, closing the door behind him gently and belaying his impatience to know what had been sent to him this year.   
  
“Am I allowed to see it this time?” His father called from the kitchen, to which Hope responded with a quick and loud negative (that didn’t sound like a petulant teenager _at all_ , if he could say so himself) before racing for his room, his work and thoughts of work entirely forgotten as he slammed the door shut to ensure that his dad wouldn’t ‘accidentally’ push the door open.   
  
Honestly. Hope was fairly certain that it was his father’s way of slowly pestering him out of the house — or maybe that was just the way of parents, that when their kids neared adulthood, they’d do their best to shove their way back into their children’s lives. It would explain how many teens were eager to move out when they came of age, if only to get away from the constant smothering.   
  
Besides. If the gift was anything like the year previous, Hope didn’t want his dad seeing it at all.   
  
Carefully, and so very tentatively this time, Hope placed the box on his bed before digging his fingers under the tape to pry the sticky adhesive off, managing to pull off a strip of the cardboard along with it. The first thing he saw as he lifted the flaps of the box was a thick, white card: much bigger than the business sized cards from before, but more like a greeting card, folded in half so that it would stand by itself with the familiar golden font stretched across the surface.   
  
_Never forget,_ the words were elegantly printed. _You are important._  
  
The words continued on the inside of the card: _Don’t doubt yourself. Don’t hesitate._  
  
The words were so familiar to him, and Hope brought the card to his lips, feeling the thick parchment against his skin. _Don’t hesitate, huh? Like it not being a matter of can or can’t?_  
  
Minutes later, when he finally tossed the thoughts of familiarity off, he rummaged through the rest of the little package to pull out the familiar wrapped red box of chocolates, with it’s soft, velvet ribbon.   
  
Later on, he tried to share half his chocolates with his father, but Bartholomew just laughed and insisted that Hope have all of them, and smiled gently over the card that his son showed him and reminded him that those words were irrevocably true.   
  
.

.  
  
His eighteenth birthday came and went with little fuss: Bartholomew had taken the day off work and switched off his phone so that he could spend the day with his son, delegating all Academy information to Rydgea for the day, as ill prepared as the military man was for the role. There was very little fuss, and Hope worked on finishing up his thesis the rest of the year, meandering through various digs and archaeological sites in order to get the final details ready for revision. Any additional facts, or anything at all that he could find in the dig sites to help him provide support for his paper was greedily grasped at.   
  
Hope had been due to be home by Valentine’s, as per tradition for the past several years, but the weather on Gran Pulse was fierce and unpredictable, and an unexpected snowstorm had managed to halt all the train lines going from the Paddrean ruins back to any semblance of civilization, never mind back to the still little known small town that was being built to be the new city Academia.   
  
He had sulked, perhaps more than he should have for his age. Hope was an _adult_ now, decently taller than the girls around him even if he didn’t quite match most of the men yet. It was just... he wanted to get the usual present on Valentine’s Day.   
  
His sulking just seemed to make people around him smile knowingly whenever he commented that he wanted to try and make it home as soon as possible, even if he was fairly certain they didn’t actually know anything about why he wanted to get back.   
  
With the delays, Hope decided he would just stay in the room that he had rented for the rest of the day rather than wait every minute for the train that wouldn’t come for at least the next two days.   
  
Valentine’s Day, he thought vaguely as he stared blearily at the computer terminals, was a disaster this year. At this rate, he’d have to call up his father and make sure he didn’t open the present. Or look at it. Or anything of that sort.   
  
He wondered how he was supposed to phrase that, though. Politely.   
  
Hope was reaching for his phone when there was a knock on his door, and he looked up curiously. He was fairly certain there was no one here who could possibly need his attention today, especially when he had scheduled everything here to be done before Valentine’s.   
  
He stood from his chair and padded quietly over to the door, opening it just a crack to be greeted with the overwhelming scent of flowers.   
  
“Delivery!” Came a cheerful female voice. “Valentine’s delivery for Hope?”  
  
Bewildered, Hope opened the door wider. “...That’s me?”  
  
The girl startled, and then squinted at him over the large armful of red roses. It took a few moments before Hope realized that she had expected a girl behind the door... likely because of the flowers and because of the name. But she seemed to brighten up fast enough as she moved to shove the flowers into his arms.   
  
“Oh, good.” She said cheerily. “I was beginning to think I might have gotten the wrong room. These are for you!”  
  
The bouquet was insanely large — there must have been three, four dozen roses at the very least; all tied together with thick wraps of red velvet. Hope nearly staggered not under the weight, but under the sheer amount of flowers, wondering just how the delivery girl managed to carry that to his room and still be able to see where she was going. It was ridiculous and completely impractical.   
  
So why was it that he felt so... pleased?  
  
“Who sent this?” He asked, not having to fake how bewildered he was.   
  
“You don’t know?” The girl sounded surprised. “Huh. Guess you’ve got a secret admirer, then! Someone’s really crushing on you, the way I see it.”  
  
Crush was one term for it. He wasn’t sure it was a term he would have used. Hope had seen crushes before when he was younger, and it usually involved a lot of whispering and confrontations and then crying. It didn’t have the years of courtship, the knowing words, or the persistence to always keep him upright.   
  
It wasn’t a crush, he thought. It was a pillar of his stability.   
  
He had never met the person, of that he was certain. And sometimes, like now, he wondered if he ever would. If anything, wouldn’t it have been opportune to meet now that he was eighteen? Hope just wanted to _know_ , to see and understand with a need that had been driving him for years. He hadn’t pried, hadn’t chased after the mystery as had been asked of him, but it was making him antsy. He didn’t like the feeling of being kept in the dark.   
  
“Don’t look like that!” The girl said, having noticed his expression. “Cheer up, it’s Valentine’s and you’ve just got the biggest bouquet I’ve ever delivered in my life. It should be flattering!”  
  
It was. Flattering. Hope managed a small smile at the delivery girl, who perked up again at his attitude change (or at least his small attempt toward it), and thanked her, leaving her a tip before she went off again, whistling this time.   
  
There wasn’t a card with the roses, but there didn’t need to be when it was wrapped with the same velvet red ribbon. Two thoughts concerned him.   
  
Just how had his admirer known that he would be stuck here in the ruins?  
  
And.  
  
How in the world was he supposed to get this home without drawing an embarrassing amount of attention?  
  
.

.  
  
Hope had been far too busy to bother checking a calendar by the time he was nineteen. After having submitted his thesis and then having it picked apart by the newly formed Academy was nothing short of hair-raising. He hadn’t felt so put on the spot ever since he was a l’Cie, but when the board finally finished examining his findings and actually formed a department just for the research on time paradoxes and how the Oracle Drive could help identify them... Hope had been ecstatic. Ecstatic and terrified, especially when they asked him to lead the new department.   
  
He couldn’t lead... could he? Hope didn’t actually have enough experience with people to tell someone what to do, much less order them around like he was their boss. Who would actually listen to him? He was — he still preferred his own computers and blasting meaningless music in headphones while he worked. He tended to toe off his shoes and pull his legs up onto the chair and lean too close to holographic monitors and not turn the lights on when he should. He had grown a few more inches in the past year and felt gangly... stretched and clumsy with a tendency of tripping over thin air if he didn’t pay enough attention to his steps.   
  
None of that was leader material. Just because he had written the thesis...  
  
“You’ll be fine.” His father continued to reassure him, although with less open amusement at his nervousness now that they were within the central building of Academia, still being built. The walls were tall and beautiful already, and the actual Academy a wonder to behold. It was all gleaming steel and polished floors, reminiscent of Eden but with its own unique flair. Solid and reliable rather than epherescent.   
  
Hope was dragging his feet behind his father as they toured the newly built laboratories, watching as people nodded and tested each piece of equipment; as eager participants showed them around and demonstrated just what the Academy had to offer.   
  
As if Hope didn’t already know.   
  
“And your office,” The guide continued, as eager as ever. “Is just through the hall this way!”  
  
That certainly startled Hope out of his thoughts. Office? He didn’t feel old enough to have an office. He tried to catch his father’s attention and wave off the excess that was being offered to him, but rather than take his side on this, Bartholomew looked smug.   
  
This, Hope thought with faint distress, wasn’t exactly what he imagined would happen when he applied to the Academy, wanting nothing more than to contribute to his father’s work.   
  
The hall was long and brightly lit, still smelling a bit of fresh paint and steel, of cables and electricity. The door at the end of the hall might have been plain looking, but it was made of thick wood as opposed to the normal steel doors, and looked beyond luxurious. Too much so for someone with no prior experience and still in his teens. It certainly didn’t feel right to him; too much too quickly. It was, Hope thought, enough that it actually made him feel _bad_.   
  
“There are a few supervisors who need to go over the final details,” the guide continued to ramble, entirely unaware of the unease. “And outside of several more experienced researchers, you’ll be allowed to assemble a team of your own. The department is new yet, and we’ll need fresh perspectives to make this work —”  
  
The guide opened the door to usher them in, and while he should have noticed the spacious room with the stylish desk and holographic surfaces boasting the latest and greatest in technology, Hope’s eyes were drawn to the splash of color at the edge of the room.   
  
“That’s not supposed to be there.” Was the guide’s only exclamation of surprise as Hope headed toward the splash of red.   
  
He had forgotten, in the midst of his nervousness and excitement from the acceptance of his thesis as something more than the delusional words of some crazy teenager who once nearly destroyed the whole world. It hadn’t felt as... important, and he couldn’t get over it now. How could he have forgotten? It had been such an important factor in his life for so long, and had gone on to give him courage through some very dark years.   
  
Seeing the bouquet of roses and box of chocolates now, he felt altogether too adult. Nineteen and Hope managed to push aside all frivolities of childhood.   
  
Including things that had made him happy.   
  
He ran a hand over the petals of a rose, and then over the ribbon tying it together, easily imagining the softness underneath his gloves. There is another white card propped up next to the chocolates, script gold and glimmering as he picked it up to read through it.   
  
_Congratulations.  
I knew you could do it._  
  
“I swear,” The guide was still speaking the background, sounding surprised. “That wasn’t here when we last inspected this place. We don’t let just anyone into our sites, you know. We have excellent security systems, even if... well.”  
  
His father was murmuring something in the background as well; reassurances, most likely, but Hope wasn’t paying much attention to that. Instead, he was wondering about the person who kept sending the gifts. It was a little strange to think that he had been getting them since he was five, and this would be fourteen years now. Just who was that person?  
  
And to be able to get into the newly instated Academy and their defences...  
  
The mystery deepens.   
  
.

.  
  
The next few years are a blur to Hope.   
  
Well, not _really_. He recounts it all with astonishing detail, his mind honed from day after day of mental challenges, and often surprised himself with the amount he had learned from the moment he had taken the job at the Academy. They hadn’t been kidding about needing to be at the pinnacle of human skill. His studying prior to joining the Academy felt more like lazing about when compared to the hours that he pulled with other researchers.   
  
For a long while, Hope was able to forget about the missing pieces in his life and throw himself wholeheartedly into his work. More than that, he was able to find people who had the same drive and motivation as him. The same interests, and same goals. It was almost scary to be able to speak to someone and not be afraid of messing up his words or having the other person hate him for some reason inexplicable to him.   
  
Being at the Academy meant that everyone’s goals were the same: create a better future for mankind. Anything else, and every other difference, could be pushed to the background. It didn’t matter that he was an ex-l’Cie or that he had mostly been homeschooled since the Fall. It didn’t matter that he had a harder time talking to people about personal things, because most of the time, they spoke of work and science and things that Hope didn’t feel he had a disadvantage in.   
  
Valentine’s becomes a regular occurrence after the first time at the Academy, enough that people don’t quite question where the sudden flowers and chocolates came from, and also know exactly who they’re _for_. If it was a subject of gossip, the scientists were normally too polite to mention it where Hope could overhear them.   
  
Normally.  
  
There were a few times...  
  
But then, those were few and far in-between. Hope had assumed, prematurely, that it would remind him of the gossip he had been through in his childhood, where people were virulent and vehement about wanting to know things they had no right to be privy to, but for the most part, those in the Academy had been rather... polite about it. If they were curious, they would ask.   
  
It became a _thing_ for Hope to receive presents for Valentine's every year in the Academy, and people eventually found out that even Hope didn't know who the presents were from. There were various delivery services, all of whom denied knowing who was sending the flowers. Anonymous admirers, was the common consensus. Hope Estheim had someone sending him Valentines each year, and it was someone both dedicated and persistent.   
  
That information led to an unforeseen circumstance where women would smile at him in hallways, looking misty-eyed for some strange reason. It made, Hope realized, looking for any sort of relationship outside of strictly professional parameters, nigh impossible.   
  
That said, it didn't mean that there weren't any uncomfortable situations once in awhile. Uncomfortable situations that more likely than not involved a certain Alyssa Zaidelle, who had taken the fact that Hope's 'admirer' refused to reveal themselves as an open invitation.   
  
An invitation to what, Hope never understood.   
  
There were no more spectacular gifts, or at least the kind that he had gotten in his childhood. No more books on mythology or science or art, even though Hope had worked hard to be proficient in those subjects. He found that the gifter had left a sizeable impression on his life. Now, there were notes of encouragement and (Hope flushed thinking about it) professions of love and devotion.   
  
At least it was... Modest and safe for work. Nothing like his sixteenth year.   
  
(That one still embarrassed him to think about, despite all the years.)  
  
His life, as strange as it sounded, became... somewhat normal. Normal in that there was that daily routine, and that daily trial and error. He knew what he was going to do, he knew what was going to happen, and for the longest time Hope found himself content with the schedules he built around himself and with the predictability of his days. Sometimes it was hard, mostly because he couldn't understand how progress was going so _slowly_. It was understandable for a world just getting back on its feet after disaster, as well as how slow progress went to begin with, but for some reason he expected it to go faster.   
  
For the most part, Hope was happy with how the Academy was progressing. But sometimes he couldn't help but be frustrated over the fact that it had already been so many years and he had managed absolutely no progress on getting Fang and Vanille back; on finding Lightning. That the people dear to him were still gone despite all his work and all that the Academy managed to do. No matter how much progress and how many accomplishments, he was still so... Powerless.   
  
It wasn't right that they sacrificed so much, all of them, and that he would be the only one who could live peacefully. But no matter what he did, or how much he wanted to be with them and put in his portion of sacrifice, Hope couldn't seem to figure out _how_.  
  
As such, Valentine’s Day got pushed to the side in favor of attempts to push science as much as he dared, attempting to find the meaning as to why he had been left behind. There had to be one, right? And when Alyssa told him that she had seen Serah with someone else, that she theorized they were travelling through _time_... he felt his want solidify into a need. The Oracle Drive was one thing, but to be able to change events in the past in order to create a better future... that was another thing altogether.   
  
It was something Hope could aspire to, even if he had no idea where to start on a project like that. How do you do the impossible?  
  
Hope dreamt of a happier time, a non-existent time, where he surprises his mother with a call in the morning to tell her that he had gotten the day off to spend with her on her birthday, or that Vanille would visit the Academy regularly to skip down the halls and embarrass him in front of everyone by coming up behind him and covering his eyes for childish games. Serah and Snow would have started the giant family they wanted, and he and Dajh would be the ones roped into babysitting when Lightning needed to rid her hands of children from time to time (which was more frequently than she would admit). They’re good dreams, and he wonders if that might have happened in another lifetime.   
  
Another dream he has regards a darkened sky, Fenrir cutting off the light and lamps settled across the ground to keep people safe from monsters that would suddenly appear in the darkness. It happens frequently now, completely inexplicable to modern science: that creatures could appear from (what he theorized were) paradoxes in time.   
  
It was fascinating, and despite the tragedies it incurred everyday, made the thought of time travel feasible. What if he could utilize that energy? Harness it? It shouldn’t be possible, but it was.   
  
But then that dream ends, and Hope would attempt to grasp at wisps before it faded away and he forgot all the details.   
  
When he was twenty-four, he decided that he had to know what the dreams of darkness were about. Fenrir was not supposed to create an eclipse until hundreds of years into the future, and even then, it would only be visible from a small area... the Paddrean ruins.   
  
Alyssa didn’t understand. She didn’t know why he had to visit the site and why he lingered despite the fact that his work back in Academia was far more important than whatever little he could find and confirm out in the digs. There had been a time when Hope would go to all the archaeological digs, but that had been back when he was a teenager. As the Director of Academy Research now, he was too important to be sent off for a week looking through old manuscripts and findings.   
  
He didn’t understand why he was out there, either. It was a — gut feeling. Intuition of a kind he rarely had. Hope worked with facts and theorems, not instincts and magic anymore.   
  
(Perhaps, once upon a time, he would have gone down a different road; but not in this world.)  
  
The gut feeling paid off when he met up with Serah and her time travelling companion — Noel. It was one thing to read on the files about time travelling, but quite another to see it with his own eyes. Serah hadn’t aged a bit since... seven years ago. It was startling.   
  
It was frightening. The knowledge that Noel provided, the young man having come from a distant and bleak future where mankind had faced their extinction, meant that Hope had a new goal to strive for. If no one had come to get him yet from the future, it meant that technology devising a method of traveling back into the past and changing things may never have occurred... or that no one had the future to devise one. The first thing Hope had to do was ensure that mankind _had_ a future. And then he could worry about why he wasn’t allowed to change the past (since that was the second theory — if time travel had been unveiled by the Academy, then maybe his contributions and history was a fixed point that people were not allowed to change).   
  
Meeting Serah and Noel ignited a flame within him for answers, for more knowledge in subjects he had previously not given a second thought about. What kind of future were they preventing? From what he had seen, Cocoon could crash into Gran Pulse and end most life on both planets. But _what else_? It was jarring to finally be given information like that, and even worse to know that everyone else seemed to play a key part... Serah had come back from her travels before to quietly inform him that she had seen Snow and that he was still alive, and he stood there awkwardly as she covered her face within her hands and wept for the future that they most likely wouldn’t have because Snow had gone and done something stupid, something _heroic_ , again. Noel had come back once to tell him they met Sazh’s projection in a snowy ruin, and that the man was with his son somewhere in time.   
  
Everyone... everyone else had such a _purpose_. Hope kept his eyes downcast whenever he was given new bits of information like that, information he would have cried over just a few years ago. He couldn’t yet face Serah’s sadness, nor Noel’s strange and sympathetic tone. They had such hardships to face, he didn’t understand why they would take the time to bring such information to him.   
  
Lightning was fighting in the timeless place of Valhalla. Snow was once again saving the world and defying fate. Sazh was... well, he was on an adventure looking for his son (although Hope didn’t envy him that — he knew the other man well enough to understand what Sazh wanted more was to settle down somewhere stable to raise Dajh), Fang and Vanille had sacrificed everything to save the people of Cocoon, and even Serah was journeying through time in order to save the future. Hope was... he was...  
  
Years of thinking like that, of wondering in the back of his mind why he had been left behind, was pushed aside with a new vehemence as he decided, _demanded_ , his own place in history. If he had been left behind, then he would make up a _purpose_ to being left behind. He couldn’t let his imaginings take him away any more. He wasn’t a child. He couldn’t keep clinging to a past that would never change, or wonder about things that he doubted he would ever get an answer to.   
  
What little proof he had to go on were in the Oracle Drives (not solid proof) and in Serah and Noel’s words (also not solid proof). He would have to focus on something else and leave the time traveling to people who could actually do it. It was hard to admit to himself that maybe this thing... this was out of his reach entirely because he hadn’t been chosen to it, rather than because he hadn’t worked hard enough.   
  
(It was hard to leave behind that ideology that if someone worked hard enough, anything was possible. A childish dream, maybe.)  
  
“You going to be okay?” Noel asked before he and Serah left once again, and Hope felt a surge of confusion by the familiarity in the tone. Time travel, as it had been explained by Serah’s desperate words, meant that they had meant him before already in another timeline. Hope wondered if it was anything like any of his dreams, or if there were just so many tangents that he couldn’t fathom what they had gone through. Perhaps they had met a hundred times before; a thousand. Perhaps even the time travelers didn’t know the extent of their own wanderings because it may have been erased from even them. If they weren’t the only ones to change time, then would they know if their own time had been changed?  
  
Hope had no idea how many times they had met before. All he knew was this once.   
  
All he _would_ know was one lifetime. It was up to him to make it a memorable one.  
  
That Valentine’s Day, members of Team Alpha laughed as they felt their young leader’s embarrassment radiate from him as the stories of a ring and a cheeky letter consisting of ‘this is a promise we'll meet again’ circulated around the Academy.   
  
Hope’s glare was rendered ineffective by the redness of his cheeks.


	3. Chapter 3

He kept the ring.   
  
For _study_. Hope knew, of course, that the resources of the Academy wasn’t meant to be spent on personal trivialities (despite how his co-workers encouraged him to use their equipment to find out more about this secret Valentine, and even volunteered their own off-time to help him in his search — even his father had left non-subtle hints about his willingness to hire a top-notch investigator if Hope was unwilling to expend his own time and the efforts of the Academy). This meant he had to search for clues on his own off-time.   
  
When he managed to get a few minutes each day. _If_ he did, actually. Hope usually forgot about the ring by the time he could catch a few more hours of sleep, or spend a day catching up on paperwork.   
  
It had absolutely nothing to do with how fascinated he was by the reflective golden shine twisted into elaborate knots and tinged with complex geometrical shapes (it looked like some sort of computer chip, really, and ensured he handled it with extra care), or the inlay of crystal dust. He had a vague suspicion that he almost wanted to test out, because he had never seen material like this before, but Hope was far too afraid that his theory would, or wouldn’t, pan out.   
  
_A promise we’ll meet again._  
  
It didn’t help that he had met a good amount of people in the past year, especially thanks to his job.   
  
These theories, though, veered far from... just the normal people he had met for his job. Thanks to his recent acceptance of paradoxes and alternate timelines... it could be anyone.   
  
But Hope had a vague suspicion...  
  
Nothing concrete.   
  
Still, it was at his father’s urging that Hope finally gave in and agreed that perhaps (just maybe!) he was curious about knowing who had been sent the gifts. He had his doubts about it being the same person, especially since it would soon be twenty years if that was the case (and who gave anonymous Valentine’s gifts for twenty years without revealing themselves?), and just how old would the sender be to have sent the gifts for twenty years?   
  
“ _Finally,_ ” Bartholomew intoned, as if Hope hadn’t been interested in knowing at all the past twenty years. His father looked more amused than anything else at Hope’s reluctant agreement. “Do you understand how hard it was to not actually look for this person?”  
  
“Why would you want to look?” Hope was genuinely surprised. It was his mystery, not his father’s, after all.   
  
“Your mom debated hiring someone to find that person for a while, you know.” Bartholomew admitted, his voice gentle and nostalgic in the way it always was when he spoke of his wife. “She couldn’t bear the idea of you being hurt, or that someone might be stalking you.”  
  
Of course it came to that. Hope felt his face warm, remembering how that word had been tossed around before when he was a child. He cupped his hands around the mug of coffee and ducked his head, hoping that no one in the small cafe was looking in their direction. Due to the both of them being as busy as they were, their arrangement to have breakfast several times a week became a quick meeting in a coffee shop, Bartholomew looking on disapprovingly as Hope waved away the breakfast items for nothing more than a mug of black coffee (lately with an extra shot or two of espresso).   
  
"She never said anything about it." That's what he remembered: his mother being just as excited as he was over the gifts. Bit then, he had never thought further into it. Maybe she had been a little worried, or maybe he was glossing over his own memories. He did remember several years where he had neglected to inform her of the presents: perhaps it had been a sort of intuition on his part, of him latching on to his mother’s unease somehow.  
  
His father waved it off. "She didn't want to worry you."   
  
It put everything in a new perspective. Suddenly, Hope wondered what else he had missed. What else he had never caught on to because he had been so engrossed in his own problems back then (and subsequently, what he wasn’t catching on to now since he might have been... a bit engrossed with his projects at work)?  
  
And suddenly, he wondered if he should actively seek the gifter. If the person had been waiting for that, and was disappointed year after year due to Hope’s lack of curiosity from that matter or tame obedience to the orders of not looking for said person. It would have been a misunderstanding, since Hope had always been curious — but had never sought the person out due to preconceptions on how the gifter would reveal themselves when they so choose. Maybe they were both waiting on something.   
  
He thought back to the ring. It was rather ridiculous, wasn’t it? It fascinated him because of the mystery it represented, and yet who else could say the same thing? The sender knew him well enough to know what would keep his attention, enough for him to keep a ring from a person he had never met (or at least didn’t know he met). It was crazy. It should be crazy.   
  
“I always thought the person would just come forward.” Hope admitted to his father, feeling sheepish and young. That was what all the anonymous gifters did while he had been in school. Anonymous gifts and notes never stayed anonymous for long; several days at the most. (Not unless the gift was a bad one, and Hope didn’t think badly of any of his gifts.) His... his was going on twenty years. “I assumed the person would understand that I wanted to know.”  
  
Bartholomew’s eyes flickered to the yellow kerchief wrapped around his son’s wrist, voice tinged with amusement. “Indeed. Should we share suspicions are to whom it might be, or will you keep that — ahh. So you do have suspicions.”  
  
There were times when Hope cursed his pale skin, and it’s propensity to show the slightest of embarrassments with a deep red. It didn’t help that he hadn’t managed to keep many secrets from his father, if at all. “...I may have theories.”  
  
“You would know best.” Bartholomew agreed. “Since you’re the only one who meets with the people you do — unless you count Miss Zaidelle. It’s a shame.”  
  
It had been a running disappointment for his father, Hope knew, that he had never been interested in Alyssa. But Bartholomew had never blamed Hope for that, nor confronted him about it in more than the random comment inquiring about whether there was anyone of... significance in his life yet.   
  
The answer was always no. Until the future could be insured, it would be hard for Hope to concentrate on anything else. Maybe that was why he hadn’t quite mustered the right amount of curiosity to find out about his anonymous gifter in the past several years. Even now, he didn’t feel like he should take that much attention away from his projects.   
  
“If she has theories about the matter, she hasn’t brought it up to me.” She had tried; but Hope didn’t feel comfortable talking about it with her. He didn’t feel comfortable talking about it with anyone, really. And as much as Alyssa was normally overly enthusiastic, she knew when to back off from subjects. After all, she had subjects of her own that she never wanted brought up.   
  
His father sighed and set down his utensils. “Hope. I think it’s time we found out who this person is. You can’t tell me that you’re not considering this courtship seriously. It’s... unorthodox, I’ll admit, but it’s certainly caught your attention. And it started long before the events of the Fall, so it has nothing to do with that.”  
  
Hope felt his face heat up uncomfortably. "What makes you say I'm considering it?"  
  
Bartholomew gave him a pointed look. "Haven’t you kept the gift?"  
  
It was pointless to ask him which one, as Hope had kept all of them (with the exception of the perishables), and it was easy enough to surmise the point: the latest of the gifts, with the most meaning. Of course his father meant the ring, but Hope had a good reason to keep that even without sentimental, or 'romantic', value.   
  
"Of course." The was no real need to justify that decision. Anything else would have been foolish.   
  
Bartholomew smiled. "Good. I worry enough about you to add whether there will be someone in your future."  
  
"Dad..."  
  
"I'm getting old, you know. When I told you that years ago, I don't just mean my retirement." Bartholomew reached to take off his glasses in order to clean it, the frame having left light marks on the side of his face that emphasized the grey patches in his hair. Hope fidgeted, never knowing what to do with himself when his father spoke that way. He could sit through Academy meetings well enough, but... As if on cue, Bartholomew looked up and smiled at his son in reassurance. "I'm proud of the man you've become, Hope. I know your mother would have been as well, and it doesn't matter what you ended up doing. But you've done amazing things, and I know that what Nora would have wanted more than accomplishments is to see you happy. That's what she wanted most in the world for you."  
  
While not as fresh, the wound caused by the subject still felt sore, and Hope shifted uncomfortably. He didn’t want to talk about what-if, and what his mom would have wanted. Wasn’t it enough that he had given up the plan to save her, even if the means was tantalizingly close now?  
  
“You’re not that old, dad.”  
  
“Humor me.” Bartholomew’s tone was light; could have been mistaken for a joke if not for the thin layer of steel in his voice that made Hope sit up to pay attention. It was the same tone that Hope used to dread hearing as a child, mostly because it made him feel guilty without knowing why. Now, though, he understood that it was just the tone his father took when he was serious about a subject.   
  
“I...” Hope faltered. “I’ve met plenty of people in the past year. But if you count the last twenty years..."  
  
Logically, it meant that the gifter would, potentially, be plenty older than him. It meant that the person would be someone who used to live in Palumpolum or have at least visited the city, added the the fact that Hope would have never met the person until the past year. That would limit the amount of people, but...  
  
The studies of the past decade threw logic out the window quite neatly.  
  
He took a drink of his coffee, savoring the warmth and bitterness on his tongue. It was a welcome taste, an acquired one after countless nights of adding far too much sugar to the coffee, and then eventually needing the caffeine too much to get to the sugar. Such, he thought, was the way of coffee. Readily available to those in need of sleepless nights, whether it was because of deadlines or because of nightmares. Both had been valid reasons for his burgeoning addiction to the substance.   
  
"But then again," he said, "they could be lying."   
  
Bartholomew’s voice was deceptively calm. “Does this mean I’ve lived long enough to see you engaged?”  
  
“ _It’s not an engagement ring._ ”  
  
His father chuckled, unmindful of the annoyed whining tone in Hope’s voice, expressed rarer and rarer as the years went on. “I think it’s high time I became a grandfather, don’t you?”  
  
Hope didn’t dignify that with a response (or rather, he was too busy attempting to hide his face behind his hands in the most dignified manner possible and ignore his father’s amusement).   
  
Honestly. He kept the last gift to _study_. Hope wasn’t impulsive enough to get engaged to a person he didn’t quite know, even if it would be someone who had been in his life for twenty years now. It would be unwise, and rude, to toss the ring.   
  
The endless teasing might have been getting a little bit on his nerves.   
  
Bartholomew just continued to chuckle at Hope’s mortified expression, letting the subject drop for the time being.   
  
  
.

.  
  
  
Thoughts of hunting down the anonymous gifter was pushed aside quickly enough when Alyssa proposed the idea of building Augusta Tower. What came next was an intense year of meetings and proposals; counter-proposals and funding and constant reassurances to disgruntled board members regarding the safety of the project to mankind.   
  
It was chafing and felt counter-productive to everything Hope had been doing so far, but there was little else to follow up on. Augusta Tower was a valid plan, and a good one despite his own misgivings. So long as the project was constantly monitored and controlled, the fal’Cie that they intended to build would be nothing like original fal’Cie. All they needed was the power and magic provided to keep Cocoon afloat, and it would only be the first of many projects that they would put into motion the next five hundred years.   
  
It was best, after all, to have more back-ups than necessary when it came to something like this.   
  
And for the back-ups to be initiated, they would have to succeed in the construction of Augusta Tower: all plans for the survival of Cocoon and Gran Pulse were to be stored in its computer systems… not only the plans for an artificial fal’Cie, but buffering nets and any other ideas that the Academy scientists could draw out and submit to the processing cores. The artificial intelligence they were developing would store the data and even contribute its own ideas once it was finished.   
  
From there it would be a sure method of ensuring both worlds’ survival in five hundred years.   
  
And, Hope often thought to himself, the artificial fal’Cie project could be scrapped at any time should a better idea come into fruition. All they really needed was the artificial intelligence.   
  
At night, he continued dreaming about timelines that never happened, fleeting glimpses of what might have been or what should have been. He was never certain. He was never certain of what occurred, either. Sometimes his dreams took on a darker tone, of pain and death.   
  
All he remembered were the emotions, and even then it was for mere seconds after he woke.   
  
He was twenty five and uncertain of his own existence or place in the world.   
  
Or perhaps that wasn’t the correct phrasing for what he felt. He knew what he was doing, or was attempting to do, and understood implicitly that it was where he belonged — working in the background, in the foreground, while his friends were out in the real battle. But the thing was, he wasn’t always sure of reality when he woke up. He didn’t always know what he had already done, or what he was going to do.   
  
It didn’t take much deduction to understand that the timelines were starting to falter, and that perhaps he was feeling the effects of it, being indirectly related to happenings.   
  
“What if… what if what we’re doing now has no bearing on the future?” Hope once asked Alyssa after having felt the confusion of deja vu whilst helping program an experimental program that he really shouldn’t know how to program. It had been several nights of sleeplessness that had lowered his defenses enough to ask, and he quickly learned not to bring the subject up again. “What if everything we’re doing now just gets erased in the timeline?”  
  
He shouldn’t have said those words. Hope was supposed to be the pillar of confidence and stability, after all, and the dark expression on his assistant’s (and, a little bit, friend) face was so unlike the Alyssa Zaidelle he knew that the man quickly changed the subject, asking for her help on a code that he already knew how to write.   
  
Doubt nagged at him constantly, but he learned long ago to bypass that feeling. He had taken responsibility for the project — the only reason that the board of directors allowed it to progress.   
  
For better or worse, Hope meant to progress until he found a solid and reliable solution to humanity’s imminent demise. There would be no time for outside thoughts.   
  
The series of presents lay forgotten that year in a plain white box in a corner of his room despite his earlier, and first, real intention on finding the person behind the events.   
  
  
.

.  
  
  
“I’m surprised you have the time to have a sit down lunch with me, Director Estheim.”  
  
The teasing tone was not unwelcome as Hope settled himself onto the soft seats of the cafe he usually had breakfast with his father, tugging uncomfortably on the lapels of his casual (or at least casual to him) grey jacket sitting slightly large atop a hooded sweater and dark pants for once not tucked neatly into work boots but rather hanging over a pair of old sneakers he hadn’t pulled out since before he became a director.   
  
“I thought you told me _specifically_ not to come as Director Estheim.” Hope grumbled lightly, distinctly awkward in his state of dress.   
  
Rydgea laughed loudly, drawing the attention of several patrons around him even as Hope ducked his head and wished that he had thought to worn a hat or something that might hide his distinctive hair should anyone look too close. He figured that the state of dress would already discourage the notion of who he was so that he might be overlooked, but then again, despite being rather good at not drawing attention to himself when he wasn’t trying to, Rydgea was a different story.   
  
The past decade had been good for the Guardian Corps officer, whose only sign of age were the laugh lines around his eyes and greying at the temples. With his hair cut shorter than during his days on Cocoon, he looked the very definition of a man who had lived well — was still living life at large. Even his posture was disarming, an arm slung casually over the cushioned bench and an ankle over one knee, grinning over the cup of steaming coffee on the table between them at Hope.   
  
In contrast, Hope was sure he came across as closed off and stiff if anyone compared them.   
  
“I did, didn’t I?” The brunet said with an unrepentant grin. “I didn’t expect you’d actually do it. You must want this present of yours pretty badly.”  
  
Hope glared, feeling the petulant teenager once again under Rydgea’s pleased expression. He forced himself not to glance at the red box and ribbon peeking out from the man’s coat pocket, mentally berating himself for the trip to New Nautilus where, afterward, his transport had broken down between the roads in the middle of nowhere for hours, resulting in a delay that made him miss the last shuttle home for Valentine’s Day entirely.   
  
Added to that misfortune was his father’s call the day before when Bartholomew had informed Hope in an apologetic tone that he had an emergency meeting with the board during the day, so he had asked Rydgea to sign for the present when it got there.   
  
This, of course, resulted in the extremely unfavorable interest that the soldier developed in Hope’s series of anonymous presents, an interest in which Bartholomew had no doubt made no move to discourage but instead provided the man with more information about it than Hope would have been willing to depart with.   
  
A small, childish part of his brain wanted to sulk and accuse his father of betraying him.  
  
It was just a series of unfortunate events, Hope tried to assure himself. The trip to New Nautilus had been in the planning for several weeks now, a new venture by the Academy to involve itself a little more in the affairs of the public as more and more important members were being consulted on matters of state and public affairs, and Hope had been quietly informed that there may perhaps in the near future be more of a fusion between the Academy and the political offices of state.   
  
As such, he had been the one sent out to oversee the grand unveiling of the New Nautilus Auditorium, staying long enough for the opening concert where famous singer Elida Karmic had been performing. It was a task he could in no way deny, seeing as he had managed to get back on a tentative speaking basis with Elida mere months ago, the two of them having fallen out for about ten years before Elida finally emailed him with an invitation once to one of her concerts.   
  
(Hope had to decline that first time, due to the date coinciding with an important meeting he had for the New Cocoon Project far away, but he had all but promised to attend the next concert so long as he wasn’t in a life or death situation or didn’t have the fate of humanity resting upon his words and powers of persuasion.   
  
Elida had written back that they must all be doomed if the fate of mankind rested upon his articulation and non existent charisma. That prompted a stilted correspondence between the two of them, neither bringing up Kai or the events of the Fall in their words.   
  
It didn’t mean everything was better between the two of them, but it had been a large step in the right direction.)  
  
The deal was, Rydgea had told him over the holovid, barely able to contain his snickering, that Hope actually take the afternoon off and have lunch with him — as Hope Estheim, and not _the Director of Academy Research and leader of Team Alpha_ — because despite everything, Rydgea had been one of the few people who had stuck around to watch Hope grow up and he wasn’t altogether too happy about how Hope’s workaholic tendencies had taken over in the past year.  
  
“This is shaping up to be alarmingly comparable to blackmail.” Hope observed sullenly, only lightening up slightly as a waitress came by and asked him what he would like to drink. There was no point in letting others see just how upset he was at what Rydgea was holding hostage, after all.   
  
“Humor me. Or you could think of it as payback — you never told me you had a secret admirer!”  
  
“It isn’t relevant information.” Hope bit back the urge to point out: _you never asked._  
  
“Don’t be like that.” And there it was, the grin that Hope had learnt meant nothing but embarrassment for him. Rydgea was, if nothing else, a brutally effective babysitter in those first few years after the Fall. “Fine, fine. Talk to me, then. What has the esteemed Director Estheim been up to lately?”  
  
It was a broader question, although Hope had a feeling that Rydgea wasn’t going to let the topic go that easily. The waitress that came back with a smile and a warm mug of coffee, settling it down before Hope before telling him softly that she would come back in a few minutes for his lunch order.   
  
“Not much.” Hope answered cautiously, although his own thoughts contradicted that statement. Ever since he had abandoned the Augusta Tower project (due to reasons he hadn’t understood well enough himself, but much to the relief of the other board members), he had been scrambling to find a replacement. The announcement of the New Cocoon project had taken place merely three months after he stopped the construction for Augusta Tower, and even now he was scrambling to draw up the plans and seek council from architects and engineers for a feasible method of building an entire planet and getting it into the air should disaster occur.   
  
The past several months had been hectic enough that Hope couldn’t remember the last time he had gotten a full night’s sleep. But he was alright with that — at least they were doing something, were heading somewhere.   
  
He cupped his hands around the mug of coffee and brought it up to his face, breathing in the steam appreciatively. “Everything’s going well.”  
  
“And outside of work?” Rygdea prompted.  
  
Hope frowned.   
  
Figuring that he wasn’t going to get a response unless he clarified, the soldier continued, “Your social life, Hope. Hobbies. Friends. What’s going on with you that doesn’t have to do with that project of yours?”  
  
“I just came from New Nautilus.” Hope said slowly. He understood the implications — that he had nothing going on for him outside of the New Cocoon project, but that simply wasn’t true. He had plenty of other projects to occupy his time when he was stuck or frustrated, and more than enough that the Academy had him do. He travelled, he studied, and he micromanaged. He spoke to many people, consulted, and generally dabbed fingers in too many projects to count. “I needn’t remind you I just came back from a concert.”  
  
Just because he had been sent by the Academy, and he had been there to meet and reconnect with an old friend made it… well, better than just attending a concert, correct?  
  
There may have been a flash of resentment that he was twenty five years old, successful in his field, and still being told what he should do by someone who was essentially (to Hope, anyway) his ex-babysitter.  
  
The statement made Rydgea sigh. “That’s not what I meant — it was a business trip, wasn’t it?”   
  
Hope didn’t see how that mattered, and didn’t respond.   
  
“Kid, you gotta go to one of those fun places for _fun_ one of these days. With your friends. Maybe with a girlfriend or something. Who’s that assistant of yours, anyway? The cute blond with —”  
  
“But then how would I put it all on company expenses?” Hope cut in, figuring that it would do better to joke about things he didn’t normally joke about to get Rydgea off his case. He was just here for the gift, not to be regaled on how he should be settling down and focusing on things other than work by now.  
  
As predicted, the older man laughed heartily at that statement after half a moment of stunned silence. “Well, you do have a point there. Even if I can tell you’re just trying to change the subject. If you really didn’t want to spend the money on a date, you know that either me or your father would gladly pay up, right? Hell, I’ve got more money riding on whether you’d actually manage to chat up a girl than you could spend on a date.”  
  
The implications that Rydgea was betting on his love life made Hope scowl deeply. It was worse to know that there must be someone he was betting against, as well.   
  
“Don’t suppose I could bribe you with this gift to go on a blind date?” The man asked hopefully, reaching down to tap his fingers on the red covered parcel as his grin widening at Hope’s flat look. “Damn. Didn’t think so. Knew I should have set you on on this lunch date.”  
  
“If you do, I will never go on lunch dates with you again.” Hope promised, and then paused for extra emphasis. “Ever.”  
  
“Harsh.” Rydgea intoned. He didn’t look like he believed Hope at all. “Does this mean I can’t bring a nice girl along as my own date?”  
  
“Wouldn’t that make me the, ah, ‘third wheel’?”  
  
“Would not wanting to be the third wheel make you bring your own date?”  
  
“No.”  
  
The soldier chuckled, and raised a hand in defeat. “I just need to know, though… is this the reason you’re not settled down yet? I mean, are you waiting for this person to reveal herself? If you make an announcement, I’m sure your admirer will reveal herself.”  
  
Something felt off with Rydgea’s statement, but Hope didn’t correct him on that. “That’s none of your business.”  
  
The brusqueness of it made the older man snicker. “Well, it’s good to know you’re still the same kid underneath.”  
  
Lunch continued on that vein, with the ex-military officer wheedling at Hope every few seconds while Hope stoically endured and remembered the teenage irritation he used to feel toward the man when Rydgea had stopped over to chat with his father and ended up inserting himself as a close family friend for the white-haired boy.   
  
Hope didn’t understand the man’s hidden disapproval of his life — it wasn’t as if Rydgea had settled down himself, being as busy as he was with government affairs despite his complaints and statements of imminent retirement. He wasn’t all that old, after all, and the budding society could use all the help it could get. Time for… other concerns would be found later.   
  
Not to mention, Hope _enjoyed_ his work. It was purposeful, and he certainly didn’t feel like he was missing anything. If anything, he was missing familiar people in his life, and he was working on getting them back. He didn’t understand why his father and Rydgea found it concerning that he didn’t seek extracurriculars that didn’t have to do with work.   
  
It was perhaps the amount of effort that Hope put into getting his gift from Rydgea that made the feel of thick red ribbon between his fingers all the more satisfying later on when he went home, setting the small box reverently upon his desk and brushing his fingers lightly over the velvet. He didn’t have much time before he planned on returning to the Academy to finish the reports he had due before the end of the week, since he had only taken the afternoon off.   
  
A light tug and the ribbon came smoothly from its bow, the once knotted areas dented and crinkled to add texture when Hope brushed over it absentmindedly. It was with a decidedly anxious breath that he lifted the lid of the box, wondering (hoping, perhaps) for a further clue to the identity the this one constant in his life.   
  
He didn’t know what he had been expecting, but the usual expensive chocolates hadn’t been it.   
  
Hope let out the breath he hadn’t known he was holding, unable to help the curl of disappointment knotting its way down his spine. He thought — well, he wasn’t sure. The previous gift (a ring!) had to have meant something, right? At the same time, how was any gift supposed to top the last?  
  
(Perhaps the gift of knowledge to the gifter’s anonymity would top it.)  
  
He shifted through the chocolates, unwrapping just one of them to savor before he found a note at the very bottom of the box, the same inscribed gold lettering on thick parchment.   
  
_‘Patience.’_  
  
Hope scowled at the note, sensing the taunting humor behind the words. Of course he was patient. Half of his job at the Academy was to be patient, to wait for others, to wait for situations to diffuse, to sort things out — things that took _time_ — and…   
  
He set the note back in the box with a set upon exhale. Of course he would continue to be patient for the gifter to reveal themselves. He had been patient enough to endure Rydgea’s teasing, and he would be patient for however long it took to iron out the timelines and to fix whatever it would take in order to keep the world safe.   
  
He’d be patient enough to wait for Serah and Noel, to help bring Lightning back, and to save Fang and Vanille from their crystal sleep.   
  
Hope would just have to be more patient.   
  
  
.

.  
  
  
The call had been unexpected. Bartholomew Estheim rested these days, often claiming that he was enjoying his retirement and he could damn well sleep his days away if he so wanted to no matter how worried Hope was over what his father would get up to when he had too much time on his hands (which had never happened before so Hope figured he had real reason to worry about a scenario which could potentially prove catastrophic… and Bartholomew had laughed long and hard at his son’s over exaggeration).  
  
Hearing his father over the phone demand in a low voice that Hope meet him at the hospital had been startling — frightening, until Rydgea had called him and said everything was currently alright and his father was just over-reacting.   
  
Still, he had been met at the door of the hospital (and how did that happen? He was fairly certain all visitors were to check in at the front desk) by a team of doctors who had addressed him by title and escorted him up several stories while passing him datapads to sign off and asking him questions on his health.   
  
Hope saw Rydgea waiting for them, casually dressed, just as one of the doctors asked him if he would step a certain way so they could get an MRI scan —   
  
“What’s going on?” Hope demanded, feeling fed up with the half information he was being given. The familiar face meant that he could actually drop the terse politeness, even if he had to ignore the group of doctors in order to do so. It had been over half a year since he had last seen Rydgea, and the man looked… older. Older than he should have looked for half a year of broken contact, face dark with an oncoming beard and his hair hastily tied at the nape of his neck. In contrast this time, Hope was dressed sharper even than the group of overworked doctors and their sweaters and comfort shoes.   
  
“Nothing!” Rydgea protested, as if trying to placate Hope’s glare. “Your dad’s just being a huge worrywort, and he wants you to get checked out since he _might_ have found this, uh, little thing he has is genetic and you might have inherited —”  
  
At that point, the team of doctors had already herded Hope into a separate room even as they were followed by Rydgea who was attempting to explain the situation in sentences halted frequently as the doctors explained in more detail.   
  
Bartholomew Estheim had been feeling under the weather recently (which was information Hope already knew), and had eventually given in to being checked by doctors when he started having difficulty swallowing his food. Basic scans found dysarthria, and further scans found brain tumors.   
  
Cerebellar hemangioblastoma. Rare, luckily benign, and often unnoticed for many years, but a hereditary condition if caused by Hippel-Lindau disease, which they were still testing his father for. While doctors had wanted him to stay for further scans, Bartholomew’s first act when he learned enough about it was to call Hope in for a check up. He wanted to make sure his son was safe from his condition.   
  
“So it basically starts in your twenties,” Rydgea was parroting from what he learned, eying Hope intensely. “You start getting bad headaches, get dizzy, loss of feeling in certain parts of your body… none of that ringing a bell?”  
  
“I feel fine.” Hope protested, although now there was nervousness over the headaches he had been getting. But those were normal, weren’t they? No one had batted an eye over the coffee he consumed or the painkillers he sometimes took. It was something every employee of the Academy took from time to time, especially with upcoming deadlines.   
  
“We’ll see about that.” One of the doctors promised ominously, and Hope drew back with wide eyes as the woman held up a hospital gown for him, as if expecting him to strip in a room full of people.   
  
“So your dad’s fine right now.” Rydgea assured him. “The tumors they found are inoperable, but hell, he’s had them for years and it hasn’t done anything bad, so… he’s basically only in here for what he checked in for.”  
  
Head swimming with that information, Hope barely had the voice to order everyone out so he could actually get changed as the doctors wanted. He may have studied a broad spectrum of sciences, but physiology had fallen into the background despite an once avid interest in it due to other priorities. He was more comfortable about machines, around programs that could still boot even after several mistakes made in the coding, so long as you find the mistakes later on and corrected it.   
  
Biology wasn’t his specialty… nowhere near it, in fact. Once upon a time, Hope may have entertained the thought of pursuing a medical career, but other priorities had come up. Not to mention how he had been spoiled in a manner by magic, in not having to know the exact workings of cells and internal organs in order to heal them. Injuries were easy to repair due to the body already knowing what to do — potions did nothing but speed up the healing process of the body, after all, at such a rate that it was near miraculous.   
  
But pre-existing conditions…  
  
It was the reason why illnesses were so feared. It wasn’t something which could be drowned with a potion, and things that occurred naturally in the body (or unnaturally) baffled doctors still. There were illnesses which could turn a potion into a potentially fatal concoction as it used the body against itself.  
  
It was… it was…   
  
Hope took a moment to breathe, closing his eyes and steadying himself as he brought up the calculations he had been working on earlier that morning to mind. There were still pages of reports and updates he had to look into, stacks of grants he had to read over and sign, and the schematics of a prototype cryo-chamber which would, if successful, allow one to preserve items within so well that the hypothesis was that even the most delicate items would survive hundreds of years later thanks to the implementation of immense gravity.   
  
Hope had his doubts on that one, but he had yet to go over the full report.  
  
There was a quiet knock on the door seconds later, and Hope shimmied into the hospital gown (which was little more than a _sheet_ and he really had to talk to people about assigning better clothing for those staying in a hospital) quickly before the door opened to reveal his father on the other side, looking thin but healthy still with a head full of greying hair.   
  
(It was a joke Rydgea made all the time, that the more Bartholomew aged, the more father and son finally looked alike in coloring.)  
  
“Hope.” Bartholomew Estheim greeted, voice strong and not at all sounding like someone who had just been confined to the hospital for an indeterminate amount of time. While the elder was dressed in the same gown that Hope was despairing over, he had also managed to cover the majority of it with a long beige coat, making himself look more dignified.   
  
“Dad,” Hope greeted, still feeling like he was stumbling over his own words even at twenty-six years old. Words got easier with time and with practice, but there were still too many situations where he had no idea what he could say to make anything better. As a child, Hope had learned to stay quiet if he had nothing good to say, if only because he had seen just how his mother worried when he did say something negative, when he _did_ rant and rave about something.  
  
A habit, it seemed, that was hard to overcome.   
  
The elder Estheim sighed lightly, looking just as lost as his son. “I’m sorry for calling you out without warning…”  
  
“I would have come this quickly anyway.” Hope interjected, words rushing over each other in his haste to reassure his father. Just hearing that Bartholomew was in the hospital…Well, Hope had lost enough people. He wasn’t ready to have what little he had left taken away from him without a fight from his side. The mere thought of it left a heavy feeling in his heart. Hope faltered, and then attempted a smile. “How are you feeling?”  
  
“Same as I always do.” His father grumbled, looking a little irritated. Bartholomew sighed, and then raised a hand to his temple, looking distracted. “I should let you get to the doctors. They’ll probably want to take up the rest of your day.”   
  
“Dad.” Hope called out before Bartholomew could turn and walk away. For all that he could understand talking to other scientists and such, Hope floundered when it came to speaking with a personal touch. He stumbled over words when it came to the rare things that managed to find its way under his skin and worm themselves into his heart as weaknesses. People could do that, and Hope found in his recent years that he didn’t like it. That didn’t mean, however, that he was willing to give up on those weaknesses. “I’m glad you’re okay. Just… stay… okay?”  
  
It was a far cry from his normal articulation, but nothing about this situation felt normal to Hope. Normal was discussing schematics, discussing politics; talking about projects and laws and deadlines — all of that was normal. This change of pace, atmosphere, and settling was throwing Hope off completely.   
  
He couldn’t, just couldn’t, lose someone else. Not again.   
  
The words, or perhaps the tone, made Bartholomew hesitate before the man stepped into the room and walked up to his son, both hands resting on the sides of Hope’s neck right under his jaw. It was a gesture the elder hadn’t made since Hope was a teenager, and especially not when he finally caught up with his father’s height.   
  
“Don’t worry about me.” Bartholomew said, and then smiled at Hope. “I may be old, but I’m not going away anytime soon. You just focus on yourself, and your own life, you hear me?”  
  
“You’re not old.” Hope protested automatically.   
  
“Old enough to see my son grow up into a man I couldn’t be more proud of.” His father replied, and Hope found himself frozen at what seemed like the finality of those words. The older man took a moment to study Hope carefully, expression unreadable. “I wish Nora could see you now. I can only imagine her joy.”  
  
Hope squirmed a bit, and then huffed a breath of laughter nervously. “What, like this?” He tugged at the edge of the hospital gown, feeling his cheeks warm at the reminder. “Seems a bit embarrassing.”  
  
“You’re right, she’d never let us live it down.” Bartholomew chuckled. “She would probably sneak pictures when neither of us are looking to commemorate this father-son bonding experience.”  
  
Hope smiled, feeling that familiar tinge of pain at the mention of his mother, softened now over a decade after her death. He doubted he would ever be able to think upon her without missing her enough that his heart constricted tightly for several moments, but the pain of grief had faded into a distant sadness. It was good to think about her now, about her laughter and the things she found amusing; about the way she would support them and admonish him if he ever lost confidence in himself. Nora Estheim had been a force to be reckoned with, and even now so long after her death, Hope could remember his fear as a young child when he angered her. Even now, her lessons shaped who he was, and how he reacted to things.   
  
Even now, Bartholomew would look away when he thought upon her, and Hope pretended not to notice the shine in his father’s eyes.   
  
“Are you sure everything's okay?” Hope asked, attempting to keep the topic change as blithe as possible. “You sound alright, at least.”  
  
Bartholomew waved him off, stepped back. “I’m fine. Rydgea was panicking over nothing. I’ve got all the scans done and there’s nothing at all wrong with me that hasn’t been there for years already. It’s you I’m worried about.”  
  
Hope wondered if he should mention the headaches that had been more frequent as of late, but then dismissed it. Stress-induced headaches were normal, especially for him. Bringing that up would only be inviting distress, especially right before the doctors were to look at him anyway. If there was something wrong, they would find it whether or not he decided to mention the headaches.   
  
“Okay.” Hope finally accepted, fingers twisting together before himself in a childish gesture he had never outgrown. He managed to minimize the habit in recent years, but it was a motion of comfort whenever he had to do without his gloves. A way to hold onto something.   
  
He twisted his lips into what he hoped was a reassuring smile.   
  
“Don’t worry,” he told his father. “I’m just fine.”   
  
He was always okay.   
  
  
.

.  
  
  
Bartholomew Estheim passed away fifty-seven hours after being admitted to the hospital.  
  
Reports stated an aneurysm, a blood clot in his brain which burst some time during his sleep. At the very worst, he might have felt a discomforting headache while dreaming, but it was most likely he hadn’t felt anything at all. Ultimately the most peaceful way to go.   
  
The truth of the matter was that the aneurysm was mere assumption, and none of the doctors could understand what triggered his death. He had been getting headaches, yes, and his trouble swallowing hadn’t gone away, but there hadn’t been any signs of swelling or blood clots. No one could agree whether his death was triggered by his condition or whether it was something else entirely.   
  
Hope stayed in the hospital another two days after that, undergoing scan after scan at Rydgea’s insistence.   
  
The doctors couldn’t find anything wrong in the end, and Hope insisted on being released.   
  
(Then again, the doctors couldn’t find anything wrong with his father either.)  
  
The day after he was released from the hospital, Hope attended the funeral he arranged for his father those long hours without enough to occupy his mind while in the hospital. It was a small, simple affair — less than a dozen people, the majority of that politicians who came because it was expected of them, because Bartholomew had once played his hand in creating the government that now stood. Hope knew all of them by name, knew their families and their viewpoints on all current political subjects as well as what could and couldn’t be mentioned before each of them. In short, he didn’t know them at all.   
  
There were only three whom he held an actual connection to, and Rydgea was busy greeting and chatting solemnly with various politicians in efforts to give Hope some peace and quiet. Alyssa kept shooting him concerned looks, but did what she could to smile and chat up the politicians as well, swaying their attention with information about the latest ongoing projects at the Academy.   
  
Hope was grateful to both of them. He didn’t think he would do a very good job smiling and speaking at that moment. He couldn’t seem to break his gaze with the blue crystals of Lake Bresha underneath them where he just moments ago scattered his father’s ashes.   
  
Nora Estheim’s body had never been recovered, but now maybe (finally) the two of them could be together again.  
  
“What are you going to do?” Came the soft, lilting question from beside him. “You should take some time away from work.”  
  
Hope didn’t respond for a long moment. The crystal of Lake Bresha was smooth, unblemished even after all these years and all the excavations the Academy dug to try and find the buried victims of the Purge. “...Is that what you did?”  
  
Elida shrugged, the movement causing the material of her sleek black dress to flow like water across her shoulders. She crossed her legs at the ankles and drew them under the seat, black heeled boots clicking softly against the metal platform they were sitting on even as her grip on his hand tightened and loosened rhythmically.   
  
“Yeah,” she admitted under her breath, the both of them listening to the murmurs of conversation around them. The small crowd had yet to recognize her, thanks to the thick black layered veil she wore over her face and hair, revealing only painted red lips set against pale skin. “That’s what I did. Back then. I took a year off school, wandered around… found some distant relatives. Went where I wanted, did what I wanted. It was all pretty easy back then in the chaos after the Fall. Too much going on for people to care about a teenage girl wandering around by herself.”  
  
She took a long breath, and interlaced her fingers with his. Hope wondered why, especially as the both of them were wearing gloves. The comfort of touch was far too distant.   
  
“I was really angry back then.” Elida admitted. “At everything… I guess. At my relatives for not caring enough to recognize me before I walked away. At the authorities for putting the good of others before the pain of a little girl. At my parents, at Kai… But especially at you.”  
  
Hope didn’t bother to respond. He already knew this.   
  
“I was so sure I lost everything back then. The world had literally just been torn from me. My family, my future… I felt like I had been… robbed of the most important things. Everything I thought I was, stolen. It didn’t matter if everyone else was feeling the same way, because _I_ felt it. No one else mattered back then.” Her grip tightened to an almost painful strength. “It was weeks before my relatives thought to look for me. Months before they found me.”   
  
“I’m sorry.” Hope intoned hollowly.   
  
Elida shook her head. “That’s not what I’m — that’s not the point I wanted to make. _Hope_. You’re my friend… you know? No matter how much and how long I wished I never met you. Look around you. You used to complain to me that your dad never paid attention to the important things, that he was always only ever concerned about his work. Do you remember? We used to be on the phone for hours.”  
  
For the first time that day, Hope felt a surge of irritation. What would Elida know? Bartholomew Estheim was the forefront in _everything_ after the fall of Cocoon. Science, education, politics… he was involved in the rebuilding of cities, in all the forward thinking they managed to achieve in the past decade, in —   
  
He was a _good father_ , and Hope felt ashamed to think upon the time when he once thought otherwise.  
  
“Look around you.” Elida echoed. “I don’t want this to happen to you.”  
  
His temper flared a brief moment. “I’m _not sick_.”  
  
“And that’s not what I’m talking about.” Elida’s red, red lips pulled back into a snarl of frustration, reminding Hope of their younger days when she had been so prone to fits of shouting. “You’re so _smart_ , Hope, but if you keep doing this you’re going to end up just like you father. Right back here, at the end of your days, with only a handful of people who care enough to show up, and less who actually know who you are.”  
  
The words made Hope snap his teeth together, his jaw clenched so tightly he was sure the muscles would soon break bone.   
  
Elida looked away from him, turning her head to watch the others at the makeshift funeral. Hope wondered if he should shake off her hand, but then thought better of it. Better to endure the touch than be childish enough as to throw a tantrum over it. Instead, he turned his attention back to the crystalline waves.   
  
Elida’s lips thinned in thought. “I used to wish I didn’t know you. I used to wish we never laughed together, never shared lunches together; that I’d never gone over to your house or treasured the presents you used to give me. I wished we were never friends so that I could truly, properly, hate you. That’s what everyone at school did after, you know. Hate you. I once smacked a boy in the face in high school because he called you a monster in front of me.”  
  
Hope kept his eyes focused on the shimmering blue. “...Why?”  
  
There was the sound of a distinctly unfeminine snort. “Actually? Because he insulted your mom, called her all sorts of names.” She paused. “And then said that you should never have been born. He said that, and I just — I was _so mad_. I was mad at you for being the topic of his conversation, but I was furious at him for even daring to say something like that.”  
  
Hope felt his lips twitch upward. Her fury was such a familiar concept he almost felt like they were back in grade school again.   
  
“It took me ten years to stop blaming you.” Elida confessed quietly. “Or at least, stop blaming you enough to… I don’t know. Function. Talk to you. Even now, I don’t know if I can honestly say that I didn’t think it was your fault. I might never be able to say it as long as I live. I know — I _understand_ — that the end result was something the fal’Cie orchestrated, but… Hope. I never hated you, but I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forgive you. Even though logically I know it’s not your fault.”  
  
“What are you trying to say?” Hope’s words felt clipped, and he couldn’t help it. He had none of his usual patience today, none of his graceful aplomb. It wasn’t a conversation he expected her to bring up, today of all days on his father’s funeral.  
  
Elida turned back toward him, and he could feel her gaze burning his skin without having to see her eyes. “People hold on to hate for a long time. Even knowing the truth, I kept my blame and my anger for ten years. How long do you think it will take for the general populace to stop resenting you? Another ten years? Twenty? How long before some crazy person filled with grief and hate turn his sights on you? I’ve talked to a lot of fans… the younger ones, the kids, they think you’re amazing, Hope. But their parents…”  
  
She trailed off, but Hope didn’t have to hear to rest to understand.   
  
“So long as you stay in the limelight,” she told him, “so long as you remain exposed and those parents have to keep hearing good things about you from their kids, from the public… the more that resentment will grow.”  
  
She squeezed his hand one more time, and then slipped her fingers from his grasp, moving to stand up and walk away.   
  
“Take a break from work,” she told him once more. “Don’t make me attend your funeral.”  
  
  
.

.  
  
  
It was snowing in Academia the day Hope signed the approval for the gravity well. A further discussion with the team of engineers estimated the time of completion to be in approximately five months.   
  
“Are you sure?” Alyssa asked him, blue eyes tinted with concern even as she hugged a stack of datapads to her chest. “It’s nothing more than a _theory_ — there’s no way we can get plausible test results unless Serah and Noel manage to come back and bring us some proof from the future that the gravity well even works…”  
  
“They won’t have to.” Hope told her, his attention mostly caught by the proposals he was reading through at the same time. He could choose to brush her off or comfort her about the project, the words on the tip of his tongue… but he stopped short. Of all people, Alyssa had been the one who stayed with him the past several years with unwavering faith and dedication. Despite a few rough years in the beginning where he doubted they would ever be able to come to an agreement about anything at all, they now functioned as a cohesive team. It anyone deserved the truth, she did.   
  
He looked up from his reports, blinking several times to adjust to the darkness of the room in contrast to the glowing screens. Alyssa waited patiently for him, by now used to his behaviors.   
  
“I plan on testing it myself.” He told her. “I’ve already submitted the files, and there has to be people in the future to keep the New Cocoon Project on track. Our projections estimate that the Thirteenth Ark will reappear in approximately 400AF, and…”  
  
He trailed off, clearing his throat nervously at Alyssa’s incredulous expression.   
  
“I plan to continue my work there.”  
  
His assistant gaped at him for a moment, her grip on the datapads slackening to a point where he wondered if he should take them from her to avoid an accident. The option was taken from him, however, when Alyssa regained her composure quickly enough and stood up straighter, wiping the surprise from her face and her eyes glinting at him in stern determination.   
  
“We don’t know if that device will be able to take a person to the future,” she told him, her mouth a line of disapproval. “We don’t know if it can only take — objects. It could very well kill whoever enters it.”  
  
“Then I’ve got five months to ensure that doesn’t happen.” Hope told her calmly. Alyssa should know him well enough by now to understand she wouldn’t be able to change his mind, not when he’s already decided on something.   
  
For a moment, she was frozen, standing above his workstation with her arms full of datapads, looking for all the world like a beautiful statue frozen in time. The dim green lightning of the holograms made her skin look sickly pale, made her something more or less than human, made her seem eternal in this room of fluttering technology. For a moment, Hope wondered what she was thinking to be standing so still. It was unlike Alyssa, who always had extra energy to spare and an enthusiasm that could not be curbed.   
  
“ _We._ ” She emphasized, and then leaned over his workstation to jab a finger at him. “We’re going to make sure that doesn’t happen. If you’re going to be dumb enough to do this, then I’m going with you. You’re going to need someone to keep you grounded before you drown in your work.”  
  
Hope leaned back, eyes wide. He had been prepared for her protests, for her dismay and disapproval, had been prepared for tears and a tantrum and her eventual acceptance when he confided that he’d written a letter of recommendation to the board for her promotion. He expected any and all of that, really.   
  
Yet here she was, surprising him yet again.   
  
Hope felt the breath catch in his chest as she continued to glare at him expectantly, still leaning precariously over his workstation. “Alyssa…”  
  
At his intonation of her name, Alyssa’s tense demeanor relaxed, softened, until her glare was reduced to a stiffening of her jaw and sad eyes which turned away from him a moment later. “You’re not the only one with no one else left, you know. You’re all I’ve got…” Her voice faded to nothing more than a whisper. “Even if you don’t think the same.”  
  
It was an awkward, sudden realization like a knife through his heart. Alyssa Zaidelle had been a constant in his peripherals for nearly seven years now, and Hope never quite thought of her beyond the annoyance at her proximity and a blossoming pride for her intelligence and diligence as an Academy employee. She was always there, always that person reminding him of upcoming deadlines and that food and sleep existed all in the same sentence. Always at his elbow, always there to field questions or share the burden of a task-heavy project.   
  
Alyssa was…  
  
Hope swallowed heavily. For all of that, he never truly noticed her; had brushed off her attention as distractions. Why was it only now that he noticed? Seeing her now, small in her sadness, made him realize that he missed a vital part of the last several years.   
  
“I’m sorry.” The words were heavy like failure, like a rock thrown out into sea and disappearing under dark waves as nothing more than a ripple in the abyss. His apology would make no difference — he still missed the obvious signs, and now… well, she was far too ingrained in his mind as his assistant for him to think otherwise. Maybe given time, if he could just develop the interest… but no. It wasn’t there at all. She had to already know.  
  
Alyssa jerked at the words and then scowled, pulling back. That dark expression lasted only a brief moment she replaced it with her usual smile, so much emptier now that Hope knew it to be nothing more than her usual mask.   
  
“Don’t worry about it!” And her voice was chipper; fake. “We’ve got a lot of work to get started on if you really think the gravity well is the way! Don’t you worry, Director Hope, I’m going to get all of this sorted out. There won’t be even the _hint_ of danger with this project after I’m done with it.”  
  
She flashed him a wide smile, her lips stretched taut across her face, before giving a cheerful single fingered salute from her forehead and heading off as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.   
  
He spent the rest of the day in a daze, going through his work with a clinical detachment as he tried not to think upon interpersonal relationships at all. He smiled at co-workers when appropriate, encouraged where he could, and wondered all the while just how long Alyssa had been doing the same, except far more genuine than him.   
  
It wasn’t until he found himself staring at his shadow on the door of his apartment after he was chased home by co-workers (by _Alyssa_ , who always made sure he had enough rest to not collapse), watching his breath mist in the air as the faint shadows of falling snow ghosted across his vision, that he allowed himself to feel his world collapse around him.   
  
Had it been a little more than a week ago, Hope would have called his father to fill his evening with Bartholomew’s snickering at his son because ‘you’ve finally figured it out? After all this time?’ He would have endured hours of embarrassment before his father would finally — finally say something, some advice, on what Hope should do.   
  
Hope closed his eyes, breathing out slowly as he rested his forehead against the cold metal door for a moment. Just a moment.   
  
It was the cold that finally pulled him back to reality, and Hope finally pulled back with a shudder and dug through his pockets with shivering fingers for his cardkey, scanning it quickly before stepping into the warmth of the place he called home.   
  
The door slid closed behind him with a quiet hiss, and Hope was left soundless for the second time in the day.   
  
Every inch of every surface not the floor was filled with clear glass vases half filled with water, and topped with white flowers of every kind. Atop tables, counters, dressers, and shelves. Lilies, carnations, roses, baby’s breath, chrysanthemums, alstromerias, and — there must have been dozens of flowers Hope didn’t know the names of, had never seen before, all gathered in one place. The scents were overwhelming.   
  
All of them, all the vases, were carefully wrapped in red velvet ribbons tied into bows.  
  
He stood at the entranceway wide-eyed for a long time, before leaning his weight against the closed door, sliding down slowly to sit on the ground and just take in the sight.   
  
“...It must be Valentine’s.” He murmured to himself, an elbow coming to rest atop his knee as a hand covered his mouth in thought. He had forgotten all about it in the midst of all the things going on the past two weeks. Twenty one years of anonymous presents, and Hope wondered if that was the reason he felt absolutely no concern in knowing that his apartment had been broken into, despite Elida’s warnings just the past week.   
  
And then he wondered if this was the reason he never noticed Alyssa’s interest; had just brushed off her attentions. _This_. This one constant and captivation, the one thing he found to be true and expected in his life, already occupying the role of romantic interest despite having no name or face to go along with it.   
  
With a pang, Hope realized he would be leaving even this one constant behind when the gravity well was done.   
  
He thought about the ring he still kept in his box of knickknacks, about the snowglobes and the books and science kits and components he had been given over the years. He thought about the kerchief he still wore on his wrist, with him all this time.   
  
“Sorry.” He murmured into his glove, and then laughed in depreciation. It would be the third time that week he apologized to someone only to have the word lose all meaning because it just wasn’t good enough. He wished he could say it in person, though. It was the very least his Valentine deserved.   
  
He wanted to tell them that the flowers were beautiful. That it looked absolutely magical, especially considering the week he just had. He wanted to thank them and — and what? He didn’t know, didn’t understand. Maybe he really had waited for this anonymous Valentine to reveal themselves all these years.   
  
He reached up from where he was sitting to tug gently at one of the red ribbons, undoing the bow as the soft velvet slid down the glass to him.   
  
Elida was right, though. His father had been the one to shelter him from every hurt he could in the years after the Fall, and no matter what he did, no matter how much acceptance he gained at the Academy, it wasn’t going to be enough for the general populace. In the end, Hope was going to be targeted, was going to have his own ashes spread somewhere while a small handful of people watched on. If he stayed here, he was going to amount to no more than a blip in history.   
  
At the very least, with the gravity well, he would be able to continue the New Cocoon Project. He could at least ensure humanity’s survival, even if no one acknowledged it. At the very least, he would be able to _change_ something.   
  
In order to change the future, he'd have to give up the last constant of his life.  
  
“Sorry.” He repeated, his lips pressed against the red, red ribbon. “I guess we’re never going to meet, after all.”  
  
(But maybe he wouldn't lose everything. If nothing else, even as friends, he still had Alyssa.)  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Urg, okay, so my life lately has been eaten by Sims4 and I'm pretty ashamed of that (on the other hand, I've made the entire cast of several fandoms and it's hilarious to watch their interactions), but I just recently (an hour ago?) went back to my writing and I don't think I can fit this into four parts anymore. So this is tentatively sitting as a five-parter. Maybe six. No more than six, though! I swear, swear this entire story idea was started by a sentence long summary and I don't know how it developed to be so long...


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 4a (or part 4 out of 5-6). Paradox Ending: The Future Is Hope, where we deal with the politics in a new era and Valentine's Day is pushed to the backburner for... as always, more important things.

“So you’ve never even walked around Academia? Not once?”  
  
“I have.” Hope protested, feeling his face flush at Noel’s incredulous stare. “Perhaps not every street, but I do know where everything is.”  
  
“But you said they hadn’t finished building the city when you — left.” Noel gestured to the buildings out the window where they were situated, on one of the top floors of the Academy building with a panoramic view of the cityscape beneath them. The windows, Hope had explained to Noel, were made of a material that had only been invented within the last dozen years, and the Academy had slowly been replacing their window panels with the nanotech, starting from the top down.  
  
Hope had barely glanced past the schematics and chemical composition a few seconds, allowing himself a brief moment to be amazed at the complexity and discoveries within the past four hundred years. It was inspiring and breath-taking and had he taken more than a few seconds to think upon it, he might have been dizzy at the sheer concept.  
  
It was one of the reasons he sought to immerse himself in his work, sliding easily and comfortably back behind a computer terminals with a few hours to update himself on the improvements in technology the past several centuries. The first few days had been filled with embarrassing amateur mistakes, which the other scientists had borne with amazing patience and grace, smiling at him whenever the frustration at not understanding how programs worked and then taking the time away from their own projects in order to explain things to him… quite thoroughly, enough to make his mind spin.  
  
“The schematics were not yet complete.” Hope confirmed, shifting from behind his desk to turn his attention from his work to Noel. “The Academy had several hundred submissions from aspiring architects and technicians on the development of the city. The final layout became a fusion between several designers.”  
  
One of which had been his designs, much to Hope’s shock. It had been a pet project of his, back when he was a teenager, taking out his frustration and aggression by creating the winding streets of a design that became more and more complex the longer he worked at it. He didn’t think anyone would take his blueprints seriously at all. It had been his father who urged him to submit his design after studying the intricacies.  
  
Noel studied him for a moment, prompting Hope to return his attention to the words on the computer screen, feeling like he was missing something greater than the confusion some of the terminology brought him.  
  
The language, it seems, had evolved in four hundred years. Too many technical terms he had learned growing up didn’t even exist anymore, and more words had taken their place. Time had brought new trends, new methods, and new awareness from people. It was all —  
  
“Let’s go.” Noel spoke suddenly, breaking Hope from his thoughts. “After this. I’ll show you around. It’s your city, you know, and the people here really love you. You should get to know this place — talk to the people.”  
  
But that wasn’t right. Academia wasn’t his city; rather, it was a city built by the people and homes to thousands. If anything, it was their city. Hope could barely understand the culture here.  
  
Besides, Snow’s prophetic warning of Hope’s assassination still rang loudly through his head.  
  
It was something he deduced not to bring up to Noel, though.  
  
“After this, I’ll have a project to assess.” Hope said. “The Academy reduced the budget of the New Cocoon project nearly seventy years ago and we need the funds if it’s to be completed within the next hundred years. While the crystals you and Serah brought back have shaved quite a few years off, there are still studies to be conducted regarding the various alloys we used in the core of the central —”  
  
Noel moved surprisingly fast, one moment standing by the window admiring the cityscape and the other leaning over Hope’s table, one hand covering the scientist’s mouth. “You know, I always thought you were the quiet one. I’m happy to be wrong, but I don’t understand any of what you just said, Hope.”  
  
Noel’s hand was warm and dry, his skin calluses and marked with rough scars. Hope could feel the thin leather that was braided around Noel’s fingers digging slightly into his skin, and he moved back in surprise at the sudden proximity, eyes widening at the touch. It wasn’t… unwelcomed, except that it _was_. It was a sudden reminder of a time when Hope was a child and hadn’t given further thought to sitting next to his mother and curling his arms around her waist, of when he had only sighed in exasperation when both Kai and Elida would get far too close for comfort when arguing and demanding he agree with one of them.  
  
Once, Hope had sorely missed the proximity and contact of people. He had spent months adjusting after his mother died, after Vanille turned to crystal and Lightning disappeared. His father had been a comforting presence, but Bartholomew had never been one for hugs or encouraging touches, eventually leaving Hope uncomfortable when anyone stepped into his personal space.  
  
Even Alyssa had — but no. She had betrayed him, and the soldiers that Snow confided in who had taken her prisoner would not allow him near her for fear for his safety. He wanted to speak with her, wanted to ask her why; wanted to know if she had hated him all this time while maintaining her part as his closest tie to humanity for so long. She used to cling to his arm, to shove her face close to his while making a point, and often reached for his sleeve when she wanted to drag him somewhere. Despite his reluctance, despite his discomfort, Alyssa Zaidelle had been one of the only people lately who would actually reach out to touch him.  
  
(She was the one who stared that day when he declared his intention to enter the gravity well, the one who refused to let him go alone. She was the one who smiled at him after an impossible realization, and didn’t pressure him for an answer he couldn’t give.  
  
...What had gone wrong?)  
  
“You travelled four hundred years. One day off can’t hurt that much. It’ll be a hundred years before this project of yours is finished. That’s — how many days? A lot.”  
  
“Thirty six thousand, four hundred and twenty five days.” The math was easy to do in his head, easily enough that the numbers just slipped out as he moved from behind Noel’s hand, his own gloved hand coming up from where it previously rested against the holographic statistics to brush the other man aside. “But that would be exactly a hundred years, when we don’t know exactly what day the projected fall of Cocoon is to take place. Based on the decline in integrity on the crystal pillar, even modern computational models can only narrow it down to year and month, but not the precise day.”  
  
“You’ve got thousands of people working on this, right?” Noel asked, not in the least deterred by Hope’s actions. He just moved to sit atop of the scientist’s desk, grinning at Hope’s look of disapproval. It had only been two days they spent together locked up like this, but it seemed the hunter had already gotten used to Hope’s mannerisms and proved to take amusement in seeing Hope’s reactions when his usual perfectionist tendencies were poked at.  
  
One more day, Hope thought to himself. Neither of them were the type who could just sit and do nothing, and he just had to be understanding about it. Noel was doing this because there was very little else he could do. They were both irritated by this confinement.  
  
Come the end of the third day, Hope would breathe easier even if nothing was found by the Academy’s security team. One more day and he would head out to the very top of Academia and spend a few hours under the sunlight, even if he had to take multiple datapads with him in order to get any work done.  
  
It was strange how he longed for the outside when confined while normally he could spend weeks upon weeks working indoors without noticing the time at all.  
  
Or maybe he’d just take Noel up on the offer of exploring Academia. The practical knowledge of the city’s layout could come in useful one day, right?  
  
“Perhaps.” Hope finally relented, not quite understanding why he had agreed at all and not understanding why he was lingering over the thought. He didn’t understand why Noel would put the amount of effort he did into interacting with him. Hope knew he wasn’t the most interesting person to talk to, and it had to be worse for the Hunter seeing as they had very little in common to speak about. Despite their common goal of ultimately saving humanity, their roles were diametrically opposed and left little for them to discuss. Hope knew that Noel only nodded politely whenever the scientist would start on a diatribe, polite enough not to interrupt Hope’s nervous habit of withdrawing into his facts and research when nervous.  
  
“Then take a day off.” Noel insisted. “Spend some time in the sunlight — you’re far too pale.”  
  
Hope ignored that, since it would be rather counterproductive to explain to Noel, once again, that he tended to get redder under the sunlight rather than darker. It wasn’t that he avoided time under the sun at all — there were several weeks in a row on excavations where Hope ultimately ignored the itching and tightness of his skin as it slowly peeled just so he could get some extra time with the discoveries.  
  
(It was Alyssa who usually scolded him, brought him aloe, and then reminded him time and again to share to her sunscreen. How was it that he only recently discovered just how ingrained she was in his life?)  
  
“I wouldn’t have anything to do.” Hope said instead, opting for honesty rather than just a convenient excuse. Two days stuck together and he understood that Noel appreciated the honesty, that the younger man was continuously frustrated by Hope’s unconscious looping rhetoric, an adaptation to his vernacular after years spent entangled in the Academy’s politics. Noel was like an open book at times, telling him plainly that he couldn’t understand what Hope was saying whenever the scientist dug deep into his extensive lexicon to brush off his uncertainties.  
  
It had taken much frustration from Noel before the hunter told him in no uncertain terms that he would resort to jabbing (he might have used the word _poke_ , but the resulting demonstration was quite obviously a jab in Hope’s opinion) his side should Hope continue to be so purposefully infuriating with his words.  
  
After several more demonstrations where Noel held true to his word, Hope started putting a conscious effort into letting honesty and simplicity dictate his phrasing, if only to escape from the other’s disregard for personal space and _dignity_.  
  
“Huh?” Noel looked confused at the admission, and then waved an arm toward the window. “What are you talking about? There’s lots to do out there!”  
  
Hope closed his eyes for a brief moment, leaning back into his hair before shaking his head. “I have my work. Beyond that, there’s no need for attachments to this era, not when I don’t plan on staying.”  
  
Not now that the time capsule was deemed safe; not when he would soon accomplish what he set out to do in this era. (Not when he only brought a handful of things and a friend, and lost that friend already.) After he reviewed the progression on the New Cocoon project and ensured everything was going smoothly, Hope would once again leave.  
  
He would put his fate to the destined day when the crystal pillar would fall. Win or lose, Hope would be there in that integral moment and risk everything alongside everyone else. It would be wrong to do anything otherwise.  
  
“Well,” Noel said, looking somewhat awkward at Hope’s response even as he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly and retreated from where he had taken up space over Hope’s desk. “I’m not going to try to tell you how to do things since you’ve obviously got everything in hand, but since you’re already here, it might be nice to take a look around. Even if you’re going to leave, wouldn’t it be nice to say you took the time to talk to people and stuff instead of just passed through?”  
  
Had the suggestion been made by anyone else, Hope may have had a good response to it, a logical rebuttal for his reasonings which would make sense to both of them and perhaps end the disagreement. Had it been anyone else, Hope would have automatically refused a trip out due to the basis that others always had ulterior motives and he just didn’t have the time to deal with things like that.  
  
Noel, however, was different.  
  
“That—” Hope floundered a moment, taken aback not only by the words but also by his own hesitance. Had it been anyone else… “I suppose… a day wouldn’t be too much to ask for.”  
  
“Yes!” And there Noel made a victorious gesture, grinning at him. It was a stark reminder of just how young Noel still was; expressive and excitable. “I’ll make sure you show you around your own city. Trust me, you’ll like it a lot better than this room.”  
  
The hunter paused there, and then leaned forward again to inspect Hope closely, causing the white-haired man to draw back, suddenly reminded of someone else who used to disregard personal space just to see how he would react to being in a situation he wasn’t used to.  
  
“...We might have to get you something else to wear, though.” Noel decided with a nod, fingers on his chin in thought. “Everyone will recognize you otherwise.”  
  
For a moment, Hope wanted to ask why that would be a problem, since it wasn’t as if this would be the first time he took a stroll outside in broad daylight during 400AF, but then the warning of assassins rang heavily in his mind. Just because he could survive three days and even if the military managed to root out the problem, didn’t mean it would be a good idea to parade himself in public if even the remnants of those who wanted him dead remained.  
  
Which meant further complications to the plan.  
  
“I. Uh.” Hope closed his jaw with a snap, feeling embarrassed. A hand came up unconsciously to grasp at the material of his jacket, the thickness and feel of it comforting. Maybe it would be better if he stayed within Academy walls, after all. There was far too much unnecessary complications to this venture. It was all rather disheartening. “I don’t — I don’t have any other outfits.”  
  
At Noel’s surprised look, Hope found himself flustered and with a surprising urge to defend himself on that decision. “There wasn’t much room to carry items with me, and the Academy provides uniforms. I didn’t think I would need any other outfits.”  
  
Not when he so rarely wore anything different in his adult years, anyway. Hope had not expected a deviation to his scheduled routine in the mere months he would be staying in 400AF.  
  
“If you didn’t even get to take extra clothes, what _did_ you bring?” Noel asked, sounding honestly curious.  
  
(A small box of knickknacks wrapped in a red velvet ribbon. Inside, his father’s glasses and his mother’s picture smiling out at him. Elida’s farewell letter, handwritten and smeared, and a silver chain provided by Rygdea looped through a shining gold ring. A back-up datachip with all his research on it. His wallet, with his identification and his keys, had been added into the fray because he had been carrying it with him that day. His boomerang. All those items were easily carried on his person after he awoke again.)  
  
“What I needed.” Hope told him, and it was true. He brought everything he needed to remind himself of who he was. Everything else was intangible. His knowledge, his memories, and the lessons he had learned through his years would stay with him and take up no more space than inside his head.  
  
“Well,” Noel intoned, looking amused now. “We can stop off at one of those shops that Serah always looks at. They’ve got a lot of clothes there, I’m sure we can find you something that doesn’t look like this uniform. Might have to do something about that hair of yours — maybe a hat?”  
  
“It’s not an unusual color.” Hope responded defensively.  
  
“It’s pretty attention-grabbing, though.” Noel told him. “I’d be able to spot you easily in a crowd even if everyone were wearing the same thing.” The brunet paused to consider his words, and then admitted, “Actually, you’re pretty attention-grabbing in general. I’m pretty sure you’d still be the first person I could find in a crowd no matter what you’re wearing.”  
  
“That is in no way helping your argument for me to spend the day out.” Hope grumbled, slouching down in his seat just the slightest in consternation. “Much less to expend the effort on altering my appearance if it’s all to be for naught.”  
  
Still, he was fairly certain Noel was exaggerating. Despite the general populace knowing of his arrival, Hope had walked the streets before without being disturbed, and in fact garnered less attention in 400AF than he once had in 13AF and before. This was what Elida had been talking about, he realized soon after he awoke. Hope had grown used to a vague feeling of contempt and ill-will conveyed in his general direction the first few years after the fall, usually buffeted by his father’s presence and eventually by his colleagues at the Academy. The lack of malice as he walked the streets of Academia now was… strange.  
  
Or perhaps there wasn’t as much of a lack as he previously thought, if the assassination had been planned before he even opened his eyes in this era.  
  
“I wouldn’t want you to change anything!” Noel protested, arms stretched out in front of himself and waving his protest. “Just, um, hide a bit of it for a little while, I guess. Or no, not hide—” The hunter grimaced at his words, and then brought a hand to his face, blue eyes darting to the side and looking vaguely embarrassed and a little uncomfortable with his choice of words. “Urg. Never mind. That worked out better in my head.”  
  
Hope turned away, biting his lower lip in attempts to hide a smile. It was nice to see the other flustered when Noel had such an easy time disorienting him.  
  
It was nice to talk about what might have happen after the three day deadline.  
  
Of course, Hope trusted in both the Academy’s abilities to root out the conflict and in Noel’s stubborn persistence at keeping people safe. Snow must have as well to make an arrangement like that.  
  
All these years, Hope thought with a brief pang of something close to both irritation and relief, and Snow shows up out of the blue, charging in like some reckless louse. Some hero. He really hadn’t changed at all. Once again shoving himself into the situation and then rushing off with only the quip about how Hope should stay behind and stay safe.  
  
“It doesn’t matter.” Noel amended, rubbing the bridge of his nose and looking away. “You can just wear the uniform if you want. I mean, I’ll make sure nothing bad happens, so…” he shrugged helplessly; awkwardly.  
  
It was endearing, almost. If Hope wasn’t so used to keeping everyone at arm’s length away from himself, he might have teased Noel about the way the other was acting. As it was, he wasn’t entirely sure how to act when someone approached him so casually. In fact, it was…  
  
“I’ll go.” He said quietly, and then flushed at the wide-eyed look Noel was giving him, turning away just slightly as he attempted to look like he was focusing on something out the window instead. It was easier than attempting to face Noel’s honest gaze. “...I have been meaning to see the city eventually. It just never really came up.”  
  
“Alright, then we’ll go check out the city.” Noel grinned at him, looking the excited teenager he was. “Just as soon as we get rid of those assassins.”  
  
.

.  
  
The morning of the supposed assassination, Hope received several urgent notifications.  
  
“From Augusta Tower?” Noel sounded incredulous, his arms crossed over his chest as Hope presented him with the emails. “That thing’s still up and running?”  
  
“Of course.” Hope said, surprised that Noel would think otherwise. “Augusta Tower was once a primary part of the Academy. We spent a long while on its designs and capabilities, and to let time corrode such an asset would be a waste. Of course it’s been upgraded through the centuries to match the period technologically, and we store many of our core servers there. If anyone were to take down Augusta Tower, the Academy would experience a very large setback.”  
  
Noel didn’t look too pleased by that information. “I thought you stopped building that place when you heard Serah yelling...”  
  
“We ceased the plans for an artificial fal’Cie.” Hope corrected him. “With the tower already built and the servers improving upon itself in order to create an AI, it was easier to let it run its program and then give it new parameters instead. The necessities for an entire planet, for one. While our scientists could do it, the data entry and conflicts would be enormous. We use Augusta Tower to run logistics and hypothetical scenarios. Should Pulse truly be flooded with crystal dust and the atmosphere turned poisonous, then we would need to exercise caution all the way down to the last molecule entering the world’s atmosphere. Filters, oxygen converters, and all the unknown variables we’d be facing should the crystal settle into water supplies or what mutations might come with its mixture into the earth—”  
  
“I get it, I get it.” Noel pleaded, a hand resting against Hope’s mouth to stop the barrage. It was getting to be far too familiar a gesture, and Hope glared weakly at him. “The place is still up and running.”  
  
And _important_ , Hope wanted to stress. Important enough to the future that he would easily risk his own life to ensure it wasn’t tampered with. Augusta Tower housed countless geopbytes of data built up through the centuries based on thousands upon thousands of scenarios. It was a giant databank for various methods the Academy both approved and funded in efforts to save humanity. The New Cocoon Project was merely one amongst hundreds, although it was given priority due to the progress already made. Information on underground shelters, terraforming projects to cleanse the atmosphere of crystal dust, studies on exploration beyond the planet…  
  
If Hope had to chose between how important his life was and how important the information contained within Augusta Tower was to the human race… well, there was no competition, no matter what Snow claimed.  
  
Augusta Tower was the Academy’s absolute guarantee that humanity would five to live with every breath. There were backup plans of backup plans there, some classified beyond anything Hope could dream of, all of it to foil Caius’s goal of ending the world. This way, even if Hope were to be killed, even if the New Cocoon Project were to fail, there would still be numerous choices for people to make and so many paths still which ensured survival.  
  
“I have to check on it.” Hope murmured behind Noel’s hand, mostly to himself as reassurance. He had given up on restraining Noel’s physical quirks after the first day, instead resigning himself as he often did for Alyssa unless she took it too far. Instead, he attempted to back away a step to duck under the touch only to find to his own dismay that Noel managed to corner him perfectly this time (his own fault, he had been leaning against the doorframe when he showed Noel the notifications, tired after a long night of filtering through the information the Academy sent him regarding possible threats and methods of improving his safety.  
  
“Can’t it wait until tomorrow?” Noel asked, having heard that statement. He didn’t look very pleased. “Today’s kind of important.”  
  
“Even an hour’s difference can prove monumentally damaging.” Hope denied, shaking his head even as he raised a hand to push away Noel’s. “If the intruder intends on destroying the facility, then a day could mean the difference for hundreds of years worth of data collection.”  
  
“Data collection which would mean nothing if something were to happen to you.” Noel countered, and then sighed. “But I’m not going to change your mind, am I?”  
  
“No.” The scientist admitted. “I’ve already contacted security to provide a viable transport for today as well as a handful of technicians to help. They’ll be here in under five minutes, and I’m going with them.”  
  
It meant that Noel would be going as well, from what Hope gathered about the young man. He wouldn’t be deterred by this, but Hope didn’t want to presume Noel was going just on the off-chance the hunter preferred to stay out of Augusta Tower. From what little he knew of Noel and Serah’s journeys, it didn’t sound like they enjoyed their little runabout of the place.  
  
Noel raised a hand to the back of his neck, tilting his head to the side and looking exasperated. “I’m here to keep you safe, you know. You’re really not making this easy on me.”  
  
“I apologize.” Hope demured, feeling his chest constrict slightly at those words. “But this is more important.”  
  
“To you.” Noel said. “To me, your safety’s more important than whatever’s in that place.”  
  
.

.  
  
“It’s colder than I thought.” Noel mentioned as they existed the transport vehicle, wrapping his arms around himself and frowning. “It wasn’t this cold just a few days ago.”  
  
They were accompanied by three engineers who left immediately for terminals outside the tower after a respectful smile and murmur to Hope as well as yet another curious look in Noel’s direction. There were two soldiers who stayed with them, a man and woman, both armored and armed, and both of whom were given quite the inquisitive glare from the hunter during their ride there.  
  
Hope glanced up at the tower right outside the entrance, bringing a hand up to shade his eyes but still squinting under the bright sunlight. Four hundred years and the sunlight was still as bright and harsh as the day he first stepped foot on Gran Pulse.  
  
“It’s still spring.” Hope commented absentmindedly as the soldiers went ahead of them, swiping keycards to open up the first few layers of the door. The technology and security on the place sure had improved from the last time he had been here. “We were experiencing a heatwave the past two weeks people were taking advantage of.”  
  
Noel didn’t look appeased, but luckily the temperature was still fairly mild for the time of year. It was his own decision to not wear the extra coat Hope suggested earlier that morning, but then again he hadn’t exactly pressed about it since the majority of their time would still be spent in a temperature controlled environment. Augusta Tower maintained a cool temperature throughout the years to negate the output of heat generated by the mass of computers. The basement level (inaccessible to people now that it was hundreds of years later and completely maintained by the AI’s droids) was flooded with sub-zero temperature chemical liquids to shield the many cores from disturbance and sabotage.  
  
“Couldn’t they send someone else if this needed to be done today?” Noel asked instead, and Hope stepped forward for the rest of the security system at Augusta Tower to recognize his identification. There was a long whir and the final doors to the first level opened, and the group stepped inside to holographic panels on every wall hiding more technological prowess than Hope could remember.  
  
“They could have sent Alyssa.” Hope informed him without looking back, as he took in the initial damage that had already happened to the Tower which he could see. It was subtle, but glaring to his eyes all the same. While none of the actual machinery looked very broken, there were flickers on screens that shouldn’t be there, and lights which were dimmer than they were supposed to be.  
  
This place had indeed been hacked. And not from the outside, either, according to the few skewed monitors.  
  
The two security officers accompanying Hope entered immediately after them, weapons at the ready even as they nodded to each other to secure the area, and then brushed past Hope to scout ahead. Hope stayed where he was in deference to the officers even as Noel scowled where he stood next to the scientists, arms crossed over his chest.  
  
“I could have told you this room was empty.” The hunter murmured defiantly.  
  
“Then they’re the second pair of eyes.” Hope reassured him, before moving forward again as the female officer nodded when she received an all-clear and gestured them forward. He thought it was all more than a bit silly, to be honest, although it wasn’t something he would ever say aloud. This would not be the first time he had been targeted, although this would definitely be the first time in this time period. Hope had thought he left all of that behind him, but then again…  
  
He had never expected Alyssa’s dark expression when Snow called her out for treason.  
  
“The first floor is clear.” The female officer informed him, and Hope nodded, reminding himself to ask for their names a little later on. Perhaps when they didn’t feel like they needed to jump at every possible sound and movement around him. He would have to thank their efforts later on, no matter how suspiciously Noel was eying them.  
  
“We’ll need to make our way up to the fifth floor.” He informed them, moving around the computer terminals and flickering monitors. That was where all the plans and data for the New Cocoon Project was being stored, and that information was vital to him right now. After that floor, he could comb through the other floors to ensure that there were no irreversible damage, but all other projects seemed secondary to the one that _needed_ to be completed within the next hundred years. The one with four hundred years of accumulated data.  
  
The ride up the central elevator was a mess of tense silence, and Hope nearly sighed in relief as they arrived at their destination without disturbance. Noel looked twitchy enough seeing how the two officers had their weapons at hand, and Hope was in no mood to attempt a play at peace.  
  
The fifth floor looked meticulous, data streaming across the very walls and rows of servers blinking their greeting as proof they were still working. Whoever the intruder was, it seemed they had not made it so far yet.  
  
“There’s a few things I need to check.” Hope told the two officers, watching them frown. “I’ll stay here.”  
  
“Yes, sir.” The man responded, and nodded as he stepped back into the elevator. Their job was to find the intruder as well as protect him, and he could see from the hesitance of the woman’s gait that she wasn’t happy to leave him there.  
  
“Don’t worry.” Hope told her, tone gentle. He nodded over to the scowling hunter. “I won’t be alone, even here.”  
  
She didn’t look convinced, but dipped her head in acquiescence after a second. “Of course.”  
  
They left to check on the other floors, and Hope breathed out a low breath as he turned back to eye the brunet who looked less tense now that the others were gone. Hope frowned at him, although Noel didn’t seem to notice.  
  
“Better now?” The scientist asked instead somewhat dryly before he moved to take inventory on data streams. He shouldn’t have the time to bother with anything outside of concern for the irreplaceable data, yet there was a curl of amusement as he glanced over at Noel’s petulant scowl as the man leaned against a glowing wall, the brunet looking far younger in that moment than Hope had seen him previously.  
  
“Now that you don’t have weapons that could be pointed at you? Yes. But I still don’t like this place.”  
  
“Noted.” Hope turned his attention to the terminal he had stepped before, fingers already flying across the holographic keyboard and keying in his passcode to check for disturbances. “Although I’m afraid you’ll have to endure for the moment.”  
  
There were some things that Hope was (grudgingly) willing to concede, but danger to the New Cocoon Project was not one of them. He trusted Noel to understand that, seeing as the other was already setting his sword down beside him vigilantly as if foreseeing the long wait ahead. To Hope, his life or death didn’t matter so much as the hundreds of years worth of research from dozens to thousands of brilliant scientists. This was the life work of so many truly talented people and would represent the very survival of mankind —  
  
The power surge was sudden, near blinding for a brief moment before Hope realized it wasn’t so much a surge as the activation of a field generator and he could make out Noel’s shocked, grim features as the hunter immediately swung his weapon against the force field only to be repelled back by a spread of energy.  
  
There was a slight pressure against his back, sharp and small.  
  
“Don’t move.” A feminine (and oh so very familiar) voice warned him quietly. He tensed, muscles taut even as the movement meant he disobeyed the order to stand up straight. The pressure increased at that, digging into his uniform coat. “I don’t want to shoot you. I’m only here to wipe the servers.”  
  
He felt dizzy, suddenly too warm in this cold room.  
  
“Alyssa.” He didn’t have to wonder, not when he knew her voice so intimately. While her tone was usually much higher, much more cheerful, and tended toward high amounts of energy rather than the tired and somber cadence to it now, it was still the same voice. Still the same person. “You know I can’t let you do that.”  
  
He didn’t ask how she managed to escape from the room the Academy had locked her into, not having anything like a prison. From what he had been told, it was a high-risk monitoring deck that hadn’t been used in the past few years, and she had a full rotation of guards to keep an eye out for anything devious.  
  
It was hard to imagine her, so tiny and usually so full of life, planning anything devious. But Hope had never underestimated her intelligence or determination before. He really should have seen this coming.  
  
It was just difficult to reconcile the image of her, spiteful and spitting as armed guards took her away, with the very same woman who would smile at him each morning and remind him to eat. The very same woman who threw everything away to go with him on what she thought was a suicide mission into the future.  
  
“That man who came through three days ago.... he was a liar.” And here, her voice took on a strangely thin quality, high-pitched with desperation in a manner he had never heard from her before. “He’s the one trying to kill you! He’s the reason we’re here like this, see? I knew he was lying from the moment he spoke to you. I may have given Serah and Noel a false artefact, but I didn’t mean to hurt anything. It never crossed my mind to hurt you.”  
  
She breath hitched, and Hope could feel the pressure against his back lesson just slightly. “...I didn’t mean to hurt you.”  
  
There was something about her voice that made him believe her, despite her very actions. In her tone, he was reminded of the woman who would double check all his work, would stay as late as he did every night at the Academy, and would filter through schematics for him to read through and approve. Hope raised his hands slowly from the terminal in a gesture of peace.  
  
“I know.” He told her, too aware of the danger he was in right now even as Noel tried to ram his way into the force field, yells muffled by the power surrounding them. He would have to find a way to take down the field, which shouldn’t be hard except for the gun pushed against his back. He would have to find a way to talk Alyssa down from the desperation that gripped her tone and the madness of her actions. He didn’t want either Noel or Alyssa to get hurt, and yet this was a situation where he had to tread carefully.  
  
His attention was caught briefly by Noel who growled something incomprehensible and then shoved at the field with his shoulders, ignoring the sparks and electricity from the result. The hunter then drew back and cast a _thunder_ spell, perhaps hoping to overload the system but to no avail.  
  
Alyssa, on the other hand, wasn’t paying any attention at all to the one outside their little bubble.  
  
“I only meant to come here,” she said, pitched and desperate. “I was going to wipe the servers. It’s the only way, you know, the only way for us to survive. To _exist_. Our timeline is already a paradox… so many errors. Even if we manage to save the future, we’d only wipe our own timeline out. If we save the future, we die anyway! And not just one of us. Not just some of us. _All of us_. We won’t have existed. We’d be just another floating string untethered and given to the wind. A string of data erased by another program despite how our data might have created that program to begin with.”  
  
She was barely making sense and not sounding the slightest bit like herself, and Hope glanced once more at the hunter beyond the force field whose sharp blue eyes were glued to the spot where Alyssa was pressing the gun against Hope’s back.  
  
“Alyssa.” He dipped his head, voice quiet and as soothing as he could make it. “I believe you. But your actions right now…”  
  
She pressed the gun further into his back, cutting him off.  
  
“It’s a last resort!” She hissed, and he was struck by the familiarity of her words. It almost felt like his own, once upon a time. She was desperate and at the end of her rope, and no matter how many people might speak ill of her and the actions she had yet to take, Hope could not help the thread of sympathy he felt. “If this is the only way… for us both to die right here, then I will die willingly knowing that I existed in the first place. That this timeline will be _safe_. That everyone living now will have _lived_.”  
  
She shook, but continued softly, “Please. Just let me wipe the system. Then we’ll both walk away, and I’ll surrender. No one has to be hurt over this. I’ll take the responsibility for my own actions. We’ll find another way.”  
  
It sounded reasonable. They had changed everything before, but if what she were saying was true, then this attempt would be a success. And the New Cocoon Project would be the thing that saves everyone. A project which took humanity four hundred years to create, and they didn’t have that kind of time anymore. Not to mention, any other attempt they made would fail unless Alyssa wanted to destroy everything again.  
  
Hope closed his eyes. He couldn’t understand the weight she must have borne, knowing that she held the choice between her very existence and what may be the existence of everyone in this time against the a successful future for humanity.  
  
If what she believed was true, then if she succeeded in destroying the information on the New Cocoon Project, then they would live out the rest of their lives, but…  
  
Noel came from a future where they failed. The hunter never said much on it, but his reluctance was enough for Hope to understand a small portion of how bad it must have been. His awe of things in this age was enough for Hope to understand what he needed to.  
  
He opened his eyes again to stare down at the shining console before him, holographic lines of data streaming and blinking, waiting for his input. This entire tower had been built thanks to Alyssa’s prompting, thanks to the files she handed to him one fateful day. Like so many other files on so many other days. Without her… would this place even exist?  
  
He dealt with theoretical physics all the time, in engineering structured around paradox energy and in futures that may or may not happen depending on different actions taken in key moments and the prediction of the Oracle Drive. Snow had said the future wouldn’t happen without him, but Hope knew better than to believe that. There were some things that were bound to happen, and other things that would not change no matter what action taken.  
  
He hadn’t objected when the military force had taken Alyssa away, when Snow insisted on restructuring the shifts of personnel around him. Maybe he should have. Maybe he should have insisted that she be given a fair trial on her behalf, but the expression on her face at that moment had been dark and hateful and in that moment Hope understood just how she must have focused her thoughts upon her betrayal.  
  
How long must she have thought upon it? How long since she started weighing the consequences of her actions?  
  
He lowered his hands slowly until they touched the consoles again, watching the blinking lights awaiting his input.  
  
“I can’t do that.” He told her levelly. Regretfully. How long had she borne this burden by herself? “If you do this, Alyssa, you’ll have to go through me first. And…” he took a sharp intake of breath, willing his emotions to calm. “I don’t believe you’ll do that.”  
  
If nothing else, Hope had known Alyssa for a good portion of his life by now. He knew what she was capable of.  
  
She let out a shaky breath, although her grip was still firm. “...If that’s your decision.”  
  
“It is.” He confirmed.  
  
The computers accepted his command to lower the force field the moment Alyssa pulled the trigger.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this is practically all caught up to what I've written so far (barring about 1k words), and it's turning out longer and gone more off-course than I originally planned. But on the course of writing through Hope's life, I couldn't just ignore Alyssa's very large influence in it. No matter how much Hope THINKS about the others, it was usually Alyssa who actually stayed there with him. Sooooo... this took a larger turn than I expected. 
> 
> I'll do my best to have another part out within a few days, but unless inspiration actually manages to strike, I'll be attempting to push out words and double/triple checking things. Hope's adult vernacular is something I really need to immerse myself in before I can pick up on it adequately.


	5. Chapter 5

He expected pain: perhaps something sharp before a numbing sensation, or a blossoming pain that would render him unable to breathe within moments. Hope admitted anticipating various types of pain stemming from his experiences back when he had been l’Cie, of various types of gunfire that would slip through his shields to strike vulnerable flesh. He thought that a single bullet wound shouldn’t hurt as much as, say, claws ripping up skin and muscle, or pressure that broke bones. As it stood, Hope had fully expected that his words and actions would lead to pain, and possibly mortal peril.  
  
What he had not expected was the harrowing breeze as Noel tossed his sword the moment the field went down, and for the absolute absence of pain.  
  
The pressure on his back disappeared, but it was the look of surprise in Noel’s eyes which alerted Hope to something amiss.  
  
Hope turned sharply where he stood, expecting to see Alyssa on the ground knocked unconscious or perhaps bleeding heavily from a wound which might later be healed back at the Academy. Instead the space behind him was empty, silent and still as if she had never been there. There was no evidence of a dropped gun, or even that another living person had stood in that area. Noel’s footfalls were near silent as he approached, quick and tense from the situation even as the hunter went to collect his short sword, which had clattered to the ground after it knocked into a console and dented the metal.  
  
Hope leaned back against the terminal, feeling the steel dig uncomfortably against his spine, and processed this information in his head, expression blank.  
  
“Where did she go?” Noel asked, still terse and cautious.  
  
Hope just shook his head in response as the other turned his attention toward him.  
  
“It doesn’t matter.” Noel told himself as Hope elected to stay quiet. The hunter looked tense and stormy, far more so even than when they first stepped toward Augusta Tower. “We’re getting out of here.”  
  
—  
  
The other guards and engineers were surprised when they were called back, confirming that there was not much damage to Augusta Tower; either the intruder hadn’t the time to inflict worse or it had all been a ruse to lure them out here. They were grateful that Director Estheim hadn’t been hurt but skeptical when Noel insisted that the would-be assassin was still at large.  
  
“That can’t be.” A middle-aged female engineer insisted, pushing up large wire-framed glasses higher up her nose. She was frowning at a tablet in her hands, the glowing screen tinting her skin a pale green. “There are no signs of life other than us here. If anyone came inside, then the Tower would at least record something — heat signatures, motion detectors, even an abnormal amount of oxygen usage within certain floors.”  
  
In fact, according to the monitors, there hadn’t been signs of anyone other than their group in the Tower all day.  
  
So unless Alyssa was invisible, weightless, heatless, and possessed an ability which allowed her to cease breathing, she was not in the Tower. It was worrisome, and Hope resolved to check in with the guards once they were back at the Academy. The confused escort with him now couldn’t possibly have known how she broke out of custody.  
  
Hope should have alerted security the moment Alyssa was gone. He should have used Augusta Tower to contract Academia the moment Alyssa appeared, even. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand the scope of treason Alyssa committed, potentially against all of humanity, and he had certainly stepped back and allowed her to be arrested the first time when there had been no proof of her crimes other than intent and the words of a time traveller.  
  
He acknowledged his lack of action as his own weakness; his own sentiment. He had worked alongside Alyssa for so many years, and had spent countless hours together. Hope tried to turn his belief in people into a strength, into an icon that everyone could trust which promoted the idea that through a common interest and a common goal, humanity could work together and achieve things greater than what the fal’Cie could provide.  
  
If Alyssa was guilty of treason against humanity, then Hope wasn’t entirely blameless either. He had always known of her ambitions, of her willingness to do whatever it took to achieve them, and of her faults. He had the same faults buried within himself, and thus had looked the other way in those rare moments Alyssa’s expressions blanked and her smile became much too false.  
  
(Or had he ever noticed them in the first place? Had he just ignored that part of her, or the rest her as well?)  
  
Hope had worked hard the past three days to push the questions and self-doubt from his mind. He had other things, more important things, to focus on.  
  
“It doesn’t matter,” Noel repeated, interrupting two of the engineers who had devolved to debating over the impossibility for Augusta Tower to be infiltrated in the first place, of whether perhaps it was the work of some super-hacker (who definitely needed to be found and hired by the Academy) or whether it would be their first encounter with a paradox. He was frowning even as he stood closer to Hope, arms at his side and looking deceptively calm. “If there’s no emergency here, then it’s time to head back to Academia.”  
  
Hope felt more than saw Noel’s fingers twitch against the very edge of his sleeve, an action which shook away any protest he might have had.  
  
“He’s right.” Hope agreed pleasantly, feeling no need to share the phantom feel of a gun pressed against his back. All the others knew was that someone else had been there, but was now gone. They had come investigating the possibility of an intruder, but while Noel and Hope had seen Alyssa, the others found no signs of her. A full report would be made once he got back, but until then Hope was sure that Alyssa wouldn’t… that she wouldn't _strike_ again. “If there is a danger here rather than a mere intruder on the premises, then it may be best to send for reinforcements. Better to be safe than sorry.”  
  
The guards looked up approvingly, and even the engineers seemed to quiet after that, actually thinking about the actual threat of danger for once. Hope gave them a few moments to digest this thought before echoing Noel's statement by suggesting that they move back toward the Academy immediately.  
  
There was no need to worry anyone further, not when Noel was obviously tense and on high alert already.  
  
Hope resolved to work on a more detailed report as they made their way back to Academia, somehow more subdued than when he had been been on the way out.  
  
—  
  
The rest of the prophesied day was a rush of paperwork, interviews, meetings with important people, and all the while Hope was surrounded by a mire of both soldiers and a rather irate Noel. There were no more attempts on his life, although whether it was because Alyssa’s attempt had been the one Snow had been trying to warn him about or because the Academy dealt rather promptly with any threats in his proximity and didn't want to alarm him with their measures, Hope couldn’t draw a solid conclusion.  
  
“Mr. Estheim,” a young man with wide-eyes and a somewhat awed expression who continuously wiped his palms on the edge of his Academy uniform nervously, stammered as Hope looked in his direction. It was late in the evening already, and the majority of scientists had left for their homes. Hope smiled encouragingly to the other even as he tried to remember the name of the other scientist. “Sorry for the interruption. I, uh. We just— we needed a confirmation on your report on what happened earlier today?”  
  
It was not the first time his report had been called upon, and Hope felt his smile strain. He didn’t know if it was because security still hadn’t figured out how Alyssa managed to escape them, but no one had told him anything on the matter when he asked (discretely, of course).  
  
“Of course.” He agreed easily, stepping away from the computer terminal he had been researching on. He still had too much to catch up on, and until the day was over, the Academy’s military had asked him to stay within premises to make their jobs just a little easier.  
  
Noel, who had dragged up a seat while waiting since he was now far too used to Hope’s habit of researching hours at a time without noticing anything else about his surroundings, watched their interactions closely.  
  
The young scientist (Blunt? Brune? Hope remembered an earlier introduction, but couldn’t make out the scientist’s excited words which stumbled one upon another) looked relieved as he held up a datapad with Hope’s report on it. “You said that you encountered a colleague of yours — Alyssa Zaidelle. And I’m afraid, uh.”  
  
Hope stood straighter as the other scientist stammered nervously. Maybe now he was going to get answers after all.  
  
“My belief is that you encountered a paradox in Augusta Tower.” The scientist blurted out, and then turned pink slightly before he continued. “A-ah, I mean it’s a paradox that resolved itself, or sorted itself out, or something like that… It’s just that— I’m afraid we don’t have an Alyssa Zaidelle in our system. Not that anyone doubts your story, since I kind of think that name sounds familiar, but if it really is a resolved paradox, then things will fix itself in time.”  
  
Hope’s breath caught.  
  
What Alyssa had said, about this timeline being a paradox…  
  
“...I just thought you’d like to know.” The other scientist finished off quietly, looking both sheepish and a small amount of miserable at having to tell Hope this. “There are a few people questioning the validity of your statement, since there’s no record of Miss Zaidelle, but that should be straightened out soon.”  
  
“Her name might be on the memorial at Bresha.” Noel spoke up, and Hope turned his head to see the hunter looking thoughtful. “The first time I met her, she was convinced that she died.”  
  
“Then I’ll check the list of names there.” The other scientist looked relieved, and made a polite acknowledgement before hurrying away.  
  
Alyssa knew (of course she knew) that she shouldn’t have existed in this timeline.  
  
Hope wondered if he would eventually fade away as well.  
  
But how was it that he remembered her so clearly while it seemed that no one else in this time period did? Noel did, of course, but he was one who travelled through time. Hope was given to understand that Noel had seen many different timelines, and somehow remembered all of them (perhaps due to a clause of travelling through time. After all, how effective would someone who was trying to change time be if he or she couldn’t remember what had happened before?), so it was Hope who was the anomaly in this situation.  
  
An anomaly he was glad for. As much as he didn’t currently want to think upon her actions, he didn’t want to forget that Alyssa existed, either.  
  
He twisted his gloved fingers together in front of his stomach in a childish gesture he used to employ while in deep thought, brows furrowed as he tried to understand.  
  
If what Alyssa said was correct, then there was no knowing what could and could not exist in this timeline soon. She disappeared and took all memory of her existence with her with the exception of from Noel and his own mind, and yet the accomplishments she helped to create were not gone… were they? Perhaps all her research would be credited to other people. Perhaps her research would also slowly fade away with her. If that was the case, then Hope would have to work hard in order to record everything Alyssa managed to discover.  
  
(It seemed callous, but it may be that the best thing Hope could do for Alyssa’s memory was to ensure her work not be forgotten. There was also the chance that Hope might disappear as well, just as she did. It would make sense as he was the only one outside of Noel to remember her still, and he wondered if possessions were all to disappear as well. Perhaps he could give his research to Noel to keep safe?)  
  
“You’re over-thinking things.”  
  
Darkened, calloused fingers pulled his hands apart carefully, pulling Hope’s attention to just how tightly he had been twisting his own fingers together. Noel, who had walked over to where Hope had been standing, looked quite calm in comparison and Hope wondered if it would be impolite to ask now if the hunter was willing to take Hope’s research, before anything could happen to it.  
  
“There is no over-thinking the matter.” Hope denied, pushing the previous thought away. He pulled himself from Noel’s touch, and looked away. His mother would have sighed in exasperation at his rudeness, but Hope had no time for niceties right now. But still… he paused briefly at the look on Noel’s face when he glanced back. “...I apologize. There’s still far too much work to be done tonight.”  
  
He couldn’t depend on Noel’s warmth or his closeness. Alyssa had been the same, although for some reason Hope had never been as susceptible to her wide smiles as he was to the look of concern being directed at him right now. Rygdea, Hope thought faintly, would have laughed at him to know that little tidbit.  
  
Except Rygdea was long gone. The people Hope had grown up with were all long gone, and the ones that remained had to take his attention now. He couldn’t allow himself to be distracted by Alyssa’s disappearance, by her non-existence, just as he couldn’t allow himself to be distracted by Noel’s concern. Hope’s one constant now had to be his work. Alyssa had not succeeded in destroying it, but if the timeline changed any further many things might still be erased anyway, and he couldn’t allow that to happen.  
  
Hope turned back to the computer terminal, this time pulling up blank schematics rather than research. If he were to disappear, then he had to record everything relevant before that happened. Both his own research and Alyssa’s, and there might be a limited time frame to work with.  
  
Before he forgot her, or before he would be forgotten as well.  
  
“You should get some rest.” Hope told the hunter softly, willing a subject change. He didn’t turn his attention away from the holographic monitor, although he could feel the other’s warmth from just a step away.  
  
Noel didn’t respond for a long moment, and it felt like the faint whirring of computers was the loudest thing Hope had ever heard.  
  
“I’ll stay.” The brunet finally decided.  
  
Hope frowned. “There’s no danger here, and I won’t be leaving.”  
  
“I’ll stay.” Noel repeated, and that was that.  
  
—  
  
The sunrise from the top of the Academy was a spectacular sight.  
  
But far too cold to be properly comfortable, Hope found out quickly. While it had been a good idea to come out and finally watch the sunrise as opposed to being stuck inside the past three days (the trip to Augusta Tower was not one he counted as going _outside_ , per say, seeing as they travelled in an armored vehicle and then barely managed to spend seconds in the open air before they were in an Academy-controlled building once more), this time it was Hope who had forgotten to take into account that it was still early spring, and thus the pre-dawn air would be several degrees colder than pleasant.  
  
He spent the entirety of the previous evening copying down the work he had brought with him into multiple formats, as well as recording everything he could remember of Alyssa’s magnitude of research. It wasn’t until the small hours of the morning when Hope finalized what he could and requested for a back-up copy to be made from the newest material created by Academy scientists, one that was fiercely resilient to damage and could store enormous amounts of data per square inch.  
  
It was the smell of coffee that alerted him to Noel’s presence, seeing as the hunter was good at keeping his footsteps silent. Hope looked away from the sunrise, datapad slack within the grasp of cold fingers as Noel sat down next to him and handed him a steaming cup of dark coffee, keeping a much lighter colored cup of liquid for himself.  
  
“So I was just told that you really shouldn’t be having a third cup this early in the morning.” The hunter commented lightly as Hope reached for the coffee gratefully. “And they refused to do more than two shots of espresso per cup.”  
  
“That’s fine.” Hope said blithely, mentally reminding himself to go to different people for coffee on different days to make himself seem less of a caffeine addict to those around the Academy. “Let’s say this is a celebration.”  
  
And not mention the fact that he barely scrapped two hours of sleep in front of his desk while waiting for the computer to finish several calculations.  
  
“Oh?” Noel asked, hands around his own steaming cup of tea. “Is that what this is?”  
  
“Four days since they left.” Hope told him, not having to specify who ‘they’ were. Snow and Serah hadn’t sent word back yet, and it was easy to see how antsy Noel was about that, but Hope was used to waiting a very long time for those important to him to get back to him. “It appears Snow was wrong, after all.”  
  
“And here I thought celebrations called for more than drinks out in the cold.” Noel joked, and Hope smiled at that. The hunter nudged him with an elbow after Hope took a long sip of his coffee. “Is it too soon to take that vacation day?”  
  
Hope blinked and made a questioning noise.  
  
“That walk around the city.” Noel explained. “You said it yourself: it’s day four now. No reason to stay in the whole day.”  
  
He could have easily protested. Hope had far too much work, especially now, to be spending time doing what could be considered as absolutely nothing. The frivolity of just wasting away the hours walking about and getting nothing accomplished felt horrendous to him; repulsive, almost, to be idling away the precious time left before the end of the world.  
  
Instead, Hope said, “I’d have to let people know. And we’d have to be back before three.”  
  
Noel’s responding grin was brighter than anything he’d seen in the past three days, easing a bit a tension that Hope hadn’t known he had wound up within himself. Maybe that had been the correct answer after all.  
  
“That’s plenty of time.” The hunter enthused. “We could get going now.”  
  
“Now?” Hope echoed, wide-eyed. “Noel, it’s _dawn_.”  
  
“Well, you can finish your coffee.” Noel conceded generously. “And call up those people you need to talk to first. I know better than to just spirit you away like that; everyone here would think you’d been kidnapped.”  
  
Hope hummed quietly in a vague agreement, bringing the warmth of the coffee up to his face to breathe in the steam. He withdrew his gaze from the other to direct his attention back to the sunrise, the light brightening the sky of Academia and the swirls of color which were quickly fading to a pale blue. There were clouds gathered on the horizon, diluting the color to an almost grey and indicating that it might rain later on.  
  
He thought about spending the day away from his work and about his revelations the night prior. It would take a while before the datachip he requested would be ready, and until then there was nothing urgent for him to attend to.  
  
Nothing, that is, except to reveal his thoughts to Noel and beg a favor.  
  
“Alright.” Hope agreed, but then reached out a hand before Noel could get up to prepare for the coming day, clasping onto the hunter’s elbow and halting his movement. “Noel. I need to ask. You’ve visited other timelines, where I am… different, correct?”  
  
“Well, I wouldn’t say _different_.” Noel’s answer was nonchalant, accompanied by a shrug and a wry smile before he noticed Hope’s more serious expression. “You’ve always been the same. Why, what’s going on?”  
  
“Nevertheless,” Hope continued, ignoring that question for the moment, “Those were timelines which I always theorized would have eventually faded away due to them being paradoxes. In the end, only one true timeline emerges. That must mean there existed different versions of different people despite no one remembering such events coming to pass. Very few people retain these memories, and if I’m correct, that number amounts to those who are chosen to travel through time.”  
  
“Well, I guess so.” Noel frowned, although he didn’t shake off Hope’s grip. “I never really thought about it. Guess it never came up between me and Serah.”  
  
“According to the Academy database I accessed last night, Alyssa Zaidelle was never an employee. In fact, she doesn’t exist on Academy databases. Further searches found her name as a victim of the Purge in Bodhum before the Fall of Cocoon, just as you predicted.” Hope took a breath, feeling the cold air rattle within his lungs as he braced himself to confirm what would not leave his thoughts. “They found her body along with several others underneath a collapsed building. She never walked away from the Purge, so she never grew up and never joined the Academy. No one remembers her, not even the computers she helped design.  
  
“I don’t remember any other timeline than the one I live in right now. If I’ve done anything differently in any other timeline, I wouldn’t know it. But for some reason, Alyssa is still sharp in my mind. If she was the only paradox, then wouldn’t I forget her as well?”  
  
He was an outlier in this scenario. There was only one conclusion which made sense.  
  
“You don’t give yourself enough credit. Snow just barged in four days ago to tell you that your life is what guarantees a future for humanity, remember? You might just be more special than you think.” Noel didn’t sound worried about it at all, which nagged right below Hope’s skin.  
  
“Maybe.” Hope agreed, although he wouldn’t have bet on it. He wasn’t about to argue with the other on that when he had other worries closer to the surface of his brain. Still... “But so far I haven’t proven the most valuable in this situation. I believe what Snow needed in order to save the future was the research I may have gathered. It’s a rather conceited thought, I admit, to entertain the notion that it was somehow my research and mine alone which might alter the course of the future. In any event, the progress of this timeline is not something I’m willing to gamble upon and so I’d like to ask a favor from you.”  
  
“You’re speaking in circles again, Hope.” Noel grumbled, although Hope counted it a success that he didn’t outright refuse. The brunet waited a moment, but when Hope didn’t continue, he added, “I’m going to say yes, but telling me what you want would be nice.”  
  
“You’re the only one who retains the memories of all the timelines you’ve seen, which amount to far more than anything I could lay claim to. I don’t remember anything from erased timelines other than Alyssa’s existence, which only postulates a correlation between myself and her as of the moment, rather than any measure of significance you may have placed upon my person. She theorized that the changes caused by the correction of this timeline’s paradox is unquantifiable, and therefore it stands to reason that the entire world might be different before the changes are through. To imagine her disappearance as the only alteration may prove to be folly.”  
  
Noel frowned, and then poked Hope rather hard in the ribs with his free hand, making the scientist yelp in a manner unbefitting of his current celebrity status and nearly dropping the rest of his coffee. “That’s not telling me what you want.”  
  
Hope took half a moment to sulk, drawing back to rub at the stinging spot. It seemed like Noel was going to continue that verbal promise of jabbing each time Hope got lost within his own thoughts and vernacular.  
  
“I need you to take the most valuable thing I can offer you.” Hope told him as plainly as possible, watching as Noel’s blue gaze sharpened upon him. “Everything I know.”  
  
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” the brunet’s tone was dubious, “but I’m not sure that’s something I can just take from you.”  
  
Hope felt his lips quirk upwards unwittingly as he lowered his nearly empty cup of coffee down towards his lap “It’s a far simpler process than what you may be imagining. I’ve arranged for my research to be copied onto a storage drive. It’ll be like… a small trinket. I’m only asking that you take it with you when you leave so that should my circumstances change in a way that erases the data I’ve gathered, then at least it will exist with you.”  
  
It was a large gambit to make, assuming that whatever Noel held on to would be safe from the corrections of the timeline. Alyssa’s very existence within the Academy, which she had a huge influence on, had been written out of history. Hope might have thought himself delusional had Noel not very casually corroborated his memory of her. It might very well be a back-up drive would be erased by the timeline correcting itself as well.  
  
The heat of Noel’s stare prompted Hope to look away, wondering how he could possibly explain better.  
  
“Are you…?” The hunter paused in his line of inquiry and took a sharp breath as understanding dawned. “You think that because Alyssa disappeared, you might disappear too? That’s not going to happen.”  
  
“It’s not about that.” Hope insisted. “Whether the idea proves true or false, the erasure of all my research, which coincides alongside Alyssa’s research, may very well prove the same conclusion as Snow’s prediction for my assassination; yet there is no sure method to preserve the gathered data, so I’m turning to you on this matter.”  
  
“You’re not going to disappear.” Noel repeated, more firmly than before.  
  
Hope let out a breath. Obviously, the younger man wasn’t going to let go of the topic. “You can’t be certain of that.”  
  
“I can. I’m not going to let that happen.”  
  
The statement was frank and for some reason the words startled Hope. His breath felt caught in his throat although he couldn’t confirm the exact reason for that. His own reaction made no sense, seeing as it was a reiteration for the statements that Noel had said over and over again the past several days regarding the outcome of the oncoming assassination attempts. When Noel said it like that… well, Hope didn’t understand why, but there was a small part that believed him no matter how unreasonable that seemed or how much doubt might fill his heart.  
  
Hope curled his fingers tighter around the cup of coffee, ducking his head in an attempt to hide a smile.  
  
“Alright.” He agreed, this time believing it. The connection between him and Alyssa was still there, yet for that moment he could ignore the facts. “But I’d feel better knowing you had the information.”  
  
“Fine.” Noel agreed reluctantly. “If it’ll make you feel any better. But you know… you’re not exactly the type of person anyone can forget.”  
  
Alyssa wasn’t the forgettable type either, yet they might currently be the only ones to remember her existence. Hope only nodded, knowing by now that any sort of disagreement would be fiercely argued by the other. Instead, he reached with a hand to pick up a discarded datapad and say, “You’re more unforgettable than I am, Noel. Now… where did you want to go today?”  
  
—  
  
Hope ended up foregoing the jacket of his Academy uniform, along with a greater number of pouches than he felt comfortable with. He also left off the distinctive Academy-colors tie, although he refused to undo the top of his button-up shirt.  
  
“We could switch clothes.” Noel offered, to which Hope very adamantly refused. After a short deliberation, the answer came from the very same scientist from the night before who asked a confirmation for Alyssa’s existence. It was the other researcher who overheard Hope and Noel’s exchange, and very nervously, entirely awe-stricken, offered his sweater to the former Director once he heard of their little day trip.  
  
“It’s not much,” the scientist (Bryne. That must have been his name) stammered.  
  
“Are you sure?” Hope asked instead, tone gentle as the other man turned a bright red. The sweater was a dark green knit, fashion similar to people who shopped around the city. The yarn was soft and obviously worn in.  
  
The researcher nodded quickly, eyes darting over to Noel standing behind Hope just for a moment. Hope couldn’t see the hunter’s expression, but whatever it was, it must have convinced Bryne to leave as soon as possible with barely a stammered goodbye for politeness.  
  
“It’ll do.” Noel said after a bit of speculation after Hope pulled on the sweater, reminding himself to thank Bryne profusely for helping with such a ridiculous thing. Really, he would have to actually make a point of shopping for clothes in the next few hours, even if merely in passing.  
  
“So you wouldn’t be able to find me in a crowd?” Hope joked, gloved hands smoothing down the dark green yarn.  
  
“I never said it would work miracles.”  
  
The scientist chuckled softly under his breath, taking amusement in Noel’s indignant expression. He wondered if he should respond that Noel was the type of person easily found in a crowd as well, even if he wore something different than his distinctive blue outfit. It was the way he carried himself, the way he stood and walked with that confident grace. It was the manner in which Noel tended to gesticulate and the enthusiasm the younger man brought to a room, practically lighting a place up.  
  
They left through the front doors without anyone giving them a second notice, which Hope marvelled at. Perhaps the scrutiny of the past several days had gotten to him, but he was tired of the double-takes and the careful monitoring from others. It had been flattering at first that people took his safety so seriously (and wasn’t it a strange thought from nearly four hundred years and just a few weeks ago for him?), but that novelty wore off fast.  
  
Noel, it seemed, had overestimated the amount of attention they would draw. Without the Academy uniform and at that early hour in the day, very few people paid them any mind at all. Most were in a hurry and on their way in such a manner Hope was fairly certain a Behemoth might have snuck past them unnoticed if said Behemoth was quiet and minded its own business. Others seem more drawn by the brightness of Noel’s clothing than any feature of Hope’s, squinting slightly before seemingly deciding that they had better things to pay attention to.  
  
Overall, the streets weren’t as crowded as the few times Hope ventured out into the city, and Academia’s people much groggier and tunnel visioned in the morning. It seemed that a simple sweater really was all it took to fool them… or the times had finally come to a crux where people minded their own business.  
  
Somehow, as strange and illogical as the former seemed, Hope doubted it was the latter reason.  
  
“You really don’t have a destination?” Hope asked again as he lengthened his stride under the morning sunlight, enjoying the brief anonymity and fresh spring air. It was finally starting to warm up a little, which he was plenty grateful for.  
  
Noel shrugged, looking unconcerned. “I would. It’s not exactly as if I know this city of yours all that well, either. This place can be a real maze. As long as we’re not looking for those Brain Blast stations around, we should be fine, though.”  
  
Hope flushed, feeling rather foolish and flustered all of a sudden. For all their talk about getting out after the three days was up, he always imagined Noel would have a solid destination in mind since he didn’t. “You should have informed me. I would have made a plan for today.”  
  
“Yeah, that’s why I didn’t.” Noel responded glibly, and then turned a youthful grin in Hope’s direction as they continued on, apparently without a destination in mind. “When is the last time you just took things as they came? Actually got lost? Heck, when is the last time something really surprised you?”  
  
“You and Serah surprise me plenty.” Hope responded. “As did Snow’s appearance.”  
  
“And Alyssa?” Noel’s question was quieter, but genuinely curious.  
  
Hope hesitated. Did she…?  
  
Yes. Alyssa had always managed to surprise him.  
  
“She’s—” He paused, and cleared his throat slightly. “Was, an unorthodox person. I think she enjoyed defying people’s expectations of her.” Including his own. Not only a brilliant researcher and assistant, but entirely different than how he imagined her to be.  “She’s… atypical and extraordinary.”  
  
That was something he could still say about her.  
  
“So the unforgettable type.” Noel summed up rather succinctly. “That must be why you still remember her.”  
  
Or it could be another reason entirely, but Hope fought that thought down even as he attempted a weak smile. “That could be it.”  
  
Despite his intention, Noel seemed to pick up on his hesitance and slowed his steps. “You know, Hope, just because no one else remembers her doesn't mean that anyone can forget about you. Without you, I don’t think we’d have this future at all. So it might be impossible for this place to _exist_ without you. You remember who she is just makes you all the more special. I’d be more worried about you forgetting…” The hunter gestured to the air a moment, “This place. Other people. Maybe even me!”  
  
“That is highly unlikely.” Hope objected. “You and Serah, perhaps even Snow, have been immune to the changes in timelines so far. You’re one of the only ones who remember that there existed other times to begin with. If there’s anyone who would be unaffected by a paradox currently residing in this time, it would be you.”  
  
“And here I was hoping you’d say that it was because I’m unforgettable as well.” Noel teased, leaning in for a brief moment but pulling back before Hope had the chance to be uncomfortable. The younger man was smiling, looking far more relaxed than he had been the previous few days. Perhaps it was because the prophesied assassination was over? Hope wasn’t sure.  
  
“You are.” Hope confirmed with mild surprise. Who could possibly forget about a time traveller who dropped into their lives? Who not only changed the course of the future but also that of the past? To be able to rewrite history… He bit his lip, and then offered hesitantly, “Not just because you would be unaffected by changes in the timeline. By your definition, due to my ability to remember Alyssa, it’s extremely unlikely I’d be able to forget you.”  
  
Noel had a type of charisma to him, Hope decided before, one that was rare and captivating and somehow casual at the same time. It wasn’t the type of charisma that people usually trained up for, but one that was natural and— and entirely unlike Hope.  
  
“Not just, huh?” Noel grinned, but let the subject drop as they walked. “Alright. I'll hold you to that .So where would the great Director Estheim like to visit in this great city, then?”  
  
_I don’t know._ It was strange to admit that in his head, and so he said instead, “What about you? Weren’t you going to be the one to show me around?”  
  
Noel shrugged, and then pointed to a shop in the distance. “What do people in a city do, anyway? What’s that shop supposed to be?”  
  
Hope looked at the shop. “That… looks like it sells toys.”  
  
It had been a long time since he had seen a toy store. The last time was back on Palumpolum, and the displays hadn’t been quite so extravagant or high-tech.  
  
“Yeah? What about that one?”  
  
“That’s…” Hope dragged the word out as he tried to connect the strange future font to words he actually knew. “Skin care? Fragrances. I’m sure they have both.”  
  
“Really?” Noel looked somewhat incredulous, although his expression turned wistful as he stopped walking. “Huh. She would have loved that.”  
  
Hope stopped as well, smiling. “I take it you didn’t have perfume shops where you’re from.”  
  
“We didn’t have shops.” Noel corrected, the nonchalance in his tone softening the actual words. “I get what they’re for. If you have something, you can sell it. Food, clothes, weapons… I just didn’t think anyone would sell smells. Or how to take care of your… skin?” The hunter shrugged. “It’s good to see stores like that around.”  
  
“I suppose it may seem frivolous.” Hope agreed. “There’s quite a few novelty stores on this level. I heard there was a button store that’s made it over a century somewhere here.”  
  
“A button store.” Noel didn’t look like he believed it for a moment, but then he laughed and raised a hand up to scratch at his forehead. “Of course. We should find it. Hey, what about that store?”  
  
He pointed once more, and Hope turned to look.  
  
“Ahh.” The words died in his throat for a moment before Hope swallowed heavily and blinked away the swell of uninvited emotion. Here was something he thought he left behind in the past, and… “That’s a florist shop.”  
  
The windows were large and brightly lit, filled to bursting with various exotic flowers and potted plants with small cards and positive slogans scrawled across the paper, and even on the glass. The shop looked small and friendly, and the centerpiece of the window display was a large bouquet of red roses in a clear glass vase filled with what looked like circular water bubbles, wrapped in a red ribbon tied into a bow.  
  
There was a thick white card at the base of the display, and printed on it in gold script was ‘For all occasions!’  
  
“They even sell _flowers_?” Noel’s eyes were wide when Hope looked back at him, and there was a sneaking smile. “This I really need to see.”  
  
They ended up heading in that direction, and Hope couldn’t honestly say that he remembered why he didn’t stop Noel or even say that perhaps they should go find that button shop first because wasn’t that more novel? What he did recall was the sound of bells when they pushed past the door and looking up to see an old fashioned gold painted bell at the top of the door frame.  
  
It was colder in the shop than it was outside in the spring air, but the chill was a pleasant one that smelled of flowers and a cool, dewy morning. There was soft music playing in the background, and no one behind the counter of the shop.  
  
That didn’t stop Noel from leaning into the various displays all over the shop, some put out to be sold that day and others in refrigerated units scattered around the small store. There were potted plants hanging from the ceiling, and even more flowers still growing in lines along the walls. The store was bursting with color, and for some reason, Hope was still trying to calm his heart.  
  
“This one,” Noel said, not even pointing any more but rather actually sticking his head amongst the large and viciously red petals. “Looks like it can eat someone!”  
  
Before Hope could ask him, politely of course, to leave those flowers alone, another voice beat him to it.  
  
“The original species actually can!” Came a cheerful female voice. “The one we have in the store is a tamed breed of a mix from the Archylte Steppe. These don’t actually eat people. They just feed off a more protein enriched soil. Great for when you want to prank a colleague, though.”  
  
There was a woman standing at the edge of the doorway which must have led to a back room, arms wrapped around a large potted plant that was just barely starting to sprout. She had dark skin, dirt smeared across her face, and her hair tied up behind a handkerchief, with circular glasses perched low on her nose and a wide smile on her face.  
  
“How can I help you today?” She asked cheerfully as Noel pulled away from the once carnivorous plant quickly.  
  
“We’re browsing.” Hope assured her, and froze as she turned her attention to him only to widen her eyes in recognition, drawing in a sharp breath.  
  
For a moment, he thought she might exclaim something, but the moment passed quickly enough and she just smiled at him, although she still seemed a bit awed and her eyes were the slightest bit wetter than before.  
  
“Of course.” She said quickly. She placed the plant down on the counter and wiped her hands on her apron before pulling off her glasses to wipe it against the edge of her shirt and putting it back on. “You take your time looking around. If you need anything, just give me a hollar. I’m Maggie and I’ll— I’ll just be in the back here, right? Yes. Of course. Right.”  
  
She stammered a bit more before brushing off the streak of dirt on her face with her bare fingers, and then spun around and left the front room again, this time without her potted plant.  
  
People in this era stammered a lot, Hope observed. Perhaps it was like a new slang.  
  
Noel, on the other hand, seemed to find the exchange extremely funny even if he was making the effort to not actually laugh.  
  
“Didn’t you want to look at the flowers?” Hope asked him instead, prompting the younger man to snicker and turn his attention back toward the display of wildflowers picked up from an area close to Oerba. The scientist breathed a silent sigh of relief as he wandered over toward the counter instead, feeling a little too.. smothered by the amount of flowers there. It was strangely jarring to be a in shop like this when he had never been in a florist shop before; when his encounter with flowers had mostly been receiving them through his life and ordering them for graves.  
  
He leaned his back against the edge of the counter, feeling it dig sharply into his back, almost like how the gun had the day prior—  
  
No.  
  
“Hey, I’ve seen these before.” He could hear Noel murmur to himself at the front of the store where he was eying a white flower with large petals.  
  
Hope turned away instead, and found his attention drawn to the spool on the table with several rolls of thick ribbon— more than one of them a dark, velvet red. Unbidden, he reached with gloved hands to rest his fingers on the thick velvet, feeling the slight give. Did all velvet ribbons feel like this? It was certainly… familiar.  
  
_Unforgettable,_ he thought, remember the conversation just a few minutes earlier. He could imagine the exact texture from underneath his gloves, even if it couldn’t be the same as the ribbons he had received growing up. It had been four hundred years, after all. Everything started long before the Fall—  
  
“How much do they sell flowers for, anyway?” Noel’s voice was startlingly close, and Hope pulled back his hand, clenching his fingers to his palm a moment before forcing himself to relax. Now was not the time to think about that. He left all of that behind, after all.  
  
“Pardon?” He asked instead, pulling his attention away from swirling thoughts. “Oh. I’m not sure. You’d have to ask someone who works here — Maggie.”  
  
Noel had pulled a single single blossom from the bucket he had been glancing at earlier, the flower a bright thing with large petals and a straight stem cleared of leaves. The younger man lowered the flower as he frowned slightly even as Hope clasped his hands together in front of himself to keep from fidgeting. “You okay?”  
  
“Of course.” His answer was immediate, and Hope smiled briefly before he looked away. “Let’s find—”  
  
“You hollered?” The florist poked her head out from the back room, this time looking much more put together. Her face was entirely clean, although there was a hint of lipstick, and the kerchief was gone from her hair to reveal dark curls gathered into a tight bun. She smiled at them, stepping out and brushing her hands down a much cleaner apron.  
  
“I’ll wait outside, if you don’t mind.” Hope told Noel, glad that the other man only nodded rather absent-mindedly. The scent of flowers and fresh plants felt sour in his throat, bringing up something that he didn’t think he could feel any more.  
  
The bell rang again as Hope stepped outside, and he walked to the end of the store where he wouldn’t see the bright and happy displays any more before raising a hand to hide his face, breathing out heavily.  
  
Was this… homesickness? He had been warned about that. Culture shock. He had steeled himself against that long before he even entered the Gravity Well, knowing well enough that once he did this, there was no going back. There would be no room for homesickness because there would be no ‘home’ to go back to. This new era was to be his temporary home, and afterwards, 500AF if everything went according to plan.  
  
He planned this. He was _prepared._  
  
Somehow, just the sight of red roses and red ribbons had unsettled him until he felt like his stomach would drop out from underneath him.  
  
_His one constant._  
  
Maybe it hadn’t truly hit him until that moment. It hadn’t really registered, hadn’t imprinted itself in his thoughts that… that constant was gone. Along with everyone else he knew. There was nothing of his childhood left here, and nothing of the life he used to have. No one from his old life, which wasn’t very old at all. It was just a few weeks ago for him, maybe a month…  
  
Valentine’s was over and done with, and the ring sitting on a chain necklace underneath his collar felt heavy around his neck.  
  
He didn’t know how long he stood there, only that there was a vague gladness no one stepped to disturb him. He didn’t want anyone to ask if he was alright, didn’t want anyone to talk to him or even look in his direction at the moment. He just needed a few moments to gather his thoughts, that was all. To… to pick up the pieces of his past and arrange them in a way that didn’t push all the air out of his lungs. He needed a moment of privacy which he might be hard pressed to find in the middle of the shopping district. A moment now and maybe a moment more to recover from the tightness in his chest and the way his very being ached for a reason he didn't fully understand.  
  
It was the ringing of the door that prompted him to bring his hand down and force composure, because if nothing else Noel shouldn’t have to deal with his problems. Not when the younger man was certain to have his own issues to deal with, not when Noel had been left behind just as Hope had gotten used to, and what was worse was that Noel had been left behind by Snow and Serah because of _him._ He had to make up for this somehow.  
  
He just—  
  
“You know, she gave me the flower for free. Pretty sure that’s not how you’re supposed to run a business. Next time I walk around this place, I’m going to have to check if this place just really likes to give things away or if it’s because I went in with you.”  
  
“That’s nice of her.” Hope said, and swallowed. His throat felt thick, but that couldn’t be right. He smiled instead. “Maybe she just likes you.”  
  
“Heh.” Noel looked amused, twirling the single flower between his fingers. “You might have missed something back there, Hope.”  
  
Hope chose not to answer that, instead asking, “Will we be looking for the button shop now?”  
  
“Sounds good. But hold up a moment.” At that, Noel rummaged around in a pouch and pulled out a long piece of red ribbon with a grin, offering it to Hope. “She was going to tie up the flower with this, but I asked her not to do that. This is for you.”  
  
Hope didn’t dare take the offered gift, and after a second, Noel’s grin slipped.  
  
“Hey.” The younger man’s tone was soft; worried. Hope hadn’t even noticed that his gaze had slipped down to the red velvet ribbon wrapped loosely around Noel’s hand. To Hope, the last Valentine’s had been over half a year ago on a snowy day only days following his father’s funeral.  
  
He had written a letter to Elida before he left. Written multiple letters. Each consisted of a different tone and different subject, and yet he hadn’t been able to bring himself to send any of them, instead deleting everything afterwards. In the end, Hope had merely send her a ‘thank you’ and left it at that.  
  
It wasn’t that he meant to be impersonal on purpose. It was just that everything else felt… _too_ personal. Felt like it was too much, and despite how they had grown up together, he and Elida weren’t close any more. Ten years had changed them far too much for Hope to ever call her up and ask about her day, or even pass anything beyond the polite greeting when necessary.  
  
And now… now she must be long gone. Everyone Hope had known in his life up to the past month, they were all gone and he would never see them again. He had cut all ties in hopes that he might be able to rescue the friends lost to a greater destiny than what he was given, and there was no going back. He knew this. Of _course_ he knew this. He spent half a year dealing with it before Hope even set foot in this era.  
  
(But in his mind, he wondered if maybe someday, before he left, someone would walk up to him with a smile. A stranger he didn’t know, or an acquaintance, or a colleague… he never could envision their features. He imagined that they wouldn’t need to say anything in greeting, only offer a long piece of red ribbon for him to recognize who they were.)  
  
He looked back up at Noel in shock.  
  
“What’s wrong?” Noel’s worry was obvious, stepping forward as if Hope might bolt at any moment. But where would he go? Where could he possibly— “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”  
  
“I—” He didn’t know what to say. It was a coincidence. Of course. Noel must have noticed him with the ribbon earlier, and coupled with the florist who was eager to help… that’s how this happened. He had to compose himself. “I suppose the events of the previous days have finally caught up with me.”  
  
“Should we head back?” Noel asked, gaze intense. “We could leave this for another day.”  
  
“No, it’s—” He shook his head, forcing himself to relax. The florist shop may have caught him off guard, but Hope was not one to take any longer than he had to getting over shocks like that. It’s a good thing, he told himself firmly, because that meant something like this wasn’t like to shock him again. He was prepared for it now, and he would learn how to deal with it. There were more important things than for him take… however long, to fully make himself comfortable in this era. “It’s fine. Thank you.”  
  
He reached out to take the dangling ribbon from Noel, the younger man still staring at him suspiciously.  
  
It was just a ribbon.  
  
It really was, Hope thought, thumbing the material. Just a normal ribbon that could possibly be purchased at many different locations, the design simple enough to survive the passage of centuries. Lots of stores would have them. It was probably used in all kinds of things: wrapping presents, for decoration, for— for anything. It was just a ribbon, and Hope had put too much emphasis on how special it was in his mind. It wouldn’t happen again.  
  
“You’re welcome.” Noel told him, somewhat muted. He seemed hesitant. “You know, I can’t say I knew Alyssa as well as you did, but she caught me by surprise, too.”  
  
Hope frowned, fingers tightening around the ribbon.  
  
“So if you need to talk about her and since no one else seems to remember, I’d listen. She’s unforgettable, right? Maybe you can tell me why some time.”  
  
“Noel,” Hope interrupted the younger man, putting a hand on his arm to stop the nervous gesturing. The hunter looked a bit strange, maybe a tad flushed in the still cool morning air, and perhaps that was the reason he was saying that.  
  
“Who’s Alyssa?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more part left! I swear this isn't meant to be a cliffhanger, it's just that part 4 is all just one huge chapter split up into three so I wouldn't go crazy trying to throw everything that's supposed to happen in this chapter out all at once. ^^;; Thanks to everyone for being so so patient with me!


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